I remember sitting on the steps on a boardwalk that reached out to the ocean. The night was barely illumined by a little moon-shine. It was late-August but the wind from the ocean was so light and constant that I almost felt cold. My skin had that perfect sun-baked remnant of playing in the sand and salt water all day. My hair was tucked behind me in a ponytail with a few strands blowing around. I felt like a solid, whole, happy person that day. That night we were supposed to see some meteor showers, so we walked away from the lights of the shore and sat on the steps, waiting for streaks of light in the sky.
Watching a meteor shower is kind of like fishing. Most of the time is spent waiting, watching, and spending quiet time alone or with a few others. Conversation is meant to be subdued, kind of like you are in a sacred place. With the first bite, the first streak of light- everyone points and gasps and then the conversation picks up. “Did you see that?!” “It was over there, maybe there will be more there!” “Oh I missed it!”
Then things get quiet again. And you realize that the stars fixed in the sky are just as beautiful. The flickering light is mysterious, asking you a question about how much you really know. And the answer is always- not a whole heck of a lot. But for some reason, sitting in the ocean breeze with celestial fireworks and specks of light bigger than your world, we feel at peace and content in knowing nothing. I really love a good starry night.
