Shooting Stars

Last night I waited excitedly for the coming of the once a year event that is known as the Perseid meteor shower.  I have always loved astronomy, learning about the stars and constellations, comets and nebulae, and I find it exhilarating just waiting for it.  This particular shower is named for the constellation Perseus, from which it seems to emanate.  It is widely accepted to be debris from the Swift-Tuttle comet.  It amazes me that "debris" or "left-overs" of a comet is what causes this magnificent display.  I read recently that they have a music all their own, and that if you have the right kind of equipment, you can actually hear them.  I never have.

Around 10:30, I was sent to bed by my dear husband who knew I would need a nap if I was to watch.  At midnight, I awoke and went downstairs and out the door.  At first, I watched as a solitary shooting star sped across the canvas every fifteen minutes or so.  So I went inside for a bit, knowing it'd be another couple of hours before things really sped up, took care of some things, and then returned to watch the heavenly sights begin to rain down in chorus.  For the first time in quite a while, I was alone with the night sky, and I listened.

It turned into a perfectly orchestrated symphony.The meteors were only a part of this music, although a beautiful portion of it.  I had to be still to let it take full effect over me.  I blocked out the noises of traffic; I blotted out the whoosh of airplanes.  And I hearkened to the voices of the crickets and the cicadas, even to the lonely hoot of an owl that joined in from a distance.  I heard other insects, as well, lending their instruments to the sonata that filled the air, and I breathed all in.  They had a language all their own, and there is no tongue that could describe it.  The heavens declared the handiwork of God!

I took an unplanned intermission somewhere in there, for my heart heard my baby's cry in the night.  I didn't really hear her from outside, but I think mothers will understand when I say I felt her distress.  So I went to her room, changed her diaper, held her and comforted her for a while, and went back to my sojourn. 

Life is full of wonders; it truly is a symphony in and of itself.  But sometimes, we have to stop to listen in order to truly enjoy it.  There is the sad baritone, the tenor of rising hope, the harmony of life as it begins to make sense.  Can we hear it?  Can we cancel out all the noise that doesn't belong?  Can we just sit, close our eyes, and hear?  And then, when the music plays and we hear it alone, can we open our eyes and behold the majesty of shooting stars?