“PERSEID METEOR SHOWER “

August 1983

THERE’S A TENT MEET TONIGHT

AT THE CORNER CALLED SKY;

IT’S CROWDED INSIDE

BUT THERE’S ROOM.

WHAT I NOTICED LAST NIGHT

AS I WANDERED NEARBY

WAS THE VIBRANCE, THE SPARKLE,

AND PLAIN MOCKIN’ OF DOOM.

BUT OLE PREACHER PERSEID CRIED,

“YOUR TIME’S NEARLY ENDED,

SO WE’LL SING THAT REFRAIN ONCE AGAIN!”

SHOULD HAVE SEEN ALL THOSE STARS

SQUIRMING HARD IN THE SKY,

BEING WARNED TO REPENT FROM THEIR SIN.

WELL, SOMETHING WAS WORKING,

SOME SPIRIT WAS MOVING,

THAT REFRAIN SEIZED THE CROWD

WITH ITS POWER

FOR NIGHT AFTER NIGHT

TO THE PREACHER’S DELIGHT,

THOSE STARS WALKED THE AISLES

BY THE HOUR.

Barbara Roberts Pine — Dyes Inlet, Silverdale, WA

I was house-sitting that August summer, thanks to friends that believed my California self belonged in western Washington. They arranged for me to spend some weeks split between homes an the edge of the Sound, and a high bank above Hood Canal. I had never hear of the Perseid Meteor Shower. I had no idea that the clear sky over my head on that warm, near-moonless night was unusual (let alone that “warm” was unusual).

Chaise lounged, lap-robed, water’s edge lapping, tall cedar and fir trees standing guard, earth rolling into what we call wee hours, I lay waiting—as a calling friend had instructed, eyes glued to the dark, clear sky, for, for, for . . .

“OH!” OHHHH! For That! Forces from the Universe streaking fire across the sky; a show of shows, again and again; for a retreat in my mind to childhood summers in Phoenix, Arizona, sleeping outside with neighborhood kids, watching the night sky for just this sort of thing, but growing up, getting busy, and finding entertainment in artificial or purchased distractions in less demanding hours.

Now, in the wee hours of August 10, 2019, I write from PineAweigh. Rain dapples marina water and drums on the flybridge floor. I sit, with aging Skoshi sleeping beside me, in the saloon below, listening.

Dave saw a meteor slide across the sky last night before the clouds closed the curtains. He is the reason I remembered the sky. Around 4:30AM, I ducked my head out to the cockpit, hoping, but. . . . really?

We have three days, friends, August 11-13, to wake in the middle of the night, to hope for a bit of clear sky, to look up for a while, and watch for the universe to throw Perseid’s magic our way.