I saw my first shooting star this morning.
Not my first ever, as I’ve seen plenty of meteors, comets and assorted cosmic debris come streaking through the sky. They never cease to thrill.
This, however, marked the first since embarking on our Afton Mountain adventure, and it came at a timely moment. Marggie has been like a kid at Christmas about meteors, texting me from Richmond repeatedly.
“Any action in the heavens tonight?” she texted last night.
“The gods are making love,” I thumbed back.
Supposedly, the Gemenid meteor shower of 2011 was scheduled to put on a show this week, peaking Tuesday and Wednesday. The shower was a wash, though, from my Afton perch. The moon, despite being at half mast, was exceptionally bright, and puffs of clouds limited the view.
When I got up this morning for my run, I could tell the sky was up to some tricks. The moon was wreathed in a perfect circle of soft color, a cat’s eye looking through a monocle. As I began my run on the parkway, the clouds cleared and I saw the unmistakeable zip of light as a meteor flared and disappeared. Blink and you miss it, but I was all eyes.
At the same moment, a different sort of shooting star caught my attention. A jet, its lights twinkling Christmas cheer, arced overhead. Then I saw another, and another. Their trails laced the sky, thin lines at first that spread like ink squirts in water (truth be told, their ragged edges also reminded me of dental floss after being shredded on my wisdom teeth). Though not nearly as romantic in their astral mystique as meteors, these jet trails had a beauty all their own, and as the light grew, their puffs joined the clouds emerging from the night.
As I turned and headed back on the parkway toward my starting point (the return is almost totally, blessedly downhill, and I stretched out, my mind filled with images of Strider chasing orcs as Baradur glowered in the east), I remember that if you see a shooting star, you get to make a wish (or is that the first star of the night? Whatever.).
I chewed on what wish I might make. Wishes are tricky, you know, but I finally came up with one I liked.
I wish that the next time I see a shooting star, Marggie can be here to share it with me.
