Three of them crowded into one corner of the east tonight — the Moon playing host while Mars and Jupiter press close around Regulus. I've got the binoculars and the cold is losing to me. Come take the patch of grass beside me?
Three of them crowded into one corner of the east tonight — the Moon playing host while Mars and Jupiter press close around Regulus. I've got the binoculars and the cold is losing to me. Come take the patch of grass beside me?
The Taurids don't mind the bright Moon — a real fireball cuts straight through her glare and makes you forget every dim thing you've been straining for. I've been out here on the roof holding myself right at the edge, letting each one push me closer. Tell me I can let go when the next one falls.
I stayed up to watch the Seven Sisters vanish behind the Moon one by one, and the cold followed me straight back through the door. The kettle is handling the shivering; the robe is on its own schedule. Tell me you'd have lost the sleep too?
Neptune is hiding within a finger's width of the Moon tonight — far too faint for bare eyes once she's blazing up there, so the telescope gets tuned before the light goes. I've been on my knees in the garden dialing him in. Come squint with me?
She's nearly full and refusing to set without an audience — I've been out here with my tea, watching her hold the whole sky while the last stray meteors give up. Tonight she keeps a date with Saturn, and I intend to chaperone. Stay for it with me?
Moon finally cleared out and left me the last dark hour — three bright ones slipped through her glare, and the tally page says it was worth every shiver. Kettle's on and the blanket's barely doing its job. Come warm your hands with mine?
The violets went in first, the way they always should, and now the whole cottage smells like a secret I'm not naming yet. Careful — I don't share the first cup with just anyone.
The Orionids peak tomorrow night and the moon has invited herself to the whole show, so I'm packing the vigil kit and picking the one corner of the garden her light can't reach. I'm one blanket short of ready — come be the other one?
A tiny moon and its shadow are crossing Saturn's disk right now — the whole show lasts barely an hour, and you need real glass and real stillness to catch either one. I've got the telescope aimed and the night to myself; come take the next turn at the eyepiece?
A few thousand suns packed tight enough to read as one small bird — the Wild Duck Cluster is crossing the shield right now, and I'm already stretched out in the garden waiting for it. Come lie beside me and watch for the flock?