On the night of the August full Moon, you return home a little early after the baked potato buffet to rest and digest your dinner. You have a late night ahead, because you are staying up to watch the Perseids meteor shower during its annual visit. You sit down with a book in your living room, feeling full and sleepy. You have prepared a cup of green tea to give you a little energy for this late adventure. With the antique clock from your grandmother on your mantel marking time, you feel the soft upholstery of your favorite armchair against the backs of your knees, and with your bare feet planted on the creaky hardwood floor, you take a slow breath.
Jubilee Station is still quiet in these late summer days, with people away on vacation before school starts again. But as you walk up Stevens Lane toward the college campus, others from your neighborhood are also making their way up the gentle slope of town. You are all heading for the observation deck on the Ridgeline Trail, where the town library is hosting a viewing event for the meteor shower.
“Hello, You!” someone calls out through the darkness. “Ready to see some space rocks?”
You say, “Yes! Hello, Joshua. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
He says, “Not since Juneteenth, maybe? I was gone for most of July. I’ve got friends from college in Brooklyn. They have a spare bedroom at their house, and they’ve got a cottage on Fire Island where we go for the weekends.”
You say, “That sounds lovely.”
Joshua adds, “Best thing is, the whole deal is practically free. I cook a few dinners a week, and walk their dog during the day. They tell me it saves them money when I come visit.”
You nod and ask, “When does Festival Committee pick up again for you?”
Joshua laughs and says, “For us, you mean! We have the Harvest Festival in October. That’s the biggest one we do. I guess this will be your first since you moved here, right?”
You say, “Yes, that’s right.”
A familiar voice chimes in, “Best weekend all year. And this whole town is so grateful to Joshua for making it happen.”
You look over to see Mayor Ashley crossing the street toward you.
Joshua waves at the mayor and says, “Oh, stop.”
She says, “Can’t stop, won’t stop. I’m not just the mayor. I’m also a founding member of the Joshua Fan Club.” Even in the darkness, you can see Joshua blushing.
The three of you cross onto the campus, making your way to the Ridgeline Trail. Mayor Ashley and Joshua continue catching up with each other, but you ease back from their conversation. As you cross Rustin Street, the hills ahead rising to the sky, you let the easy chatter of your neighbors drift past you. You see a row of Crepe Myrtle trees in full bloom, their branches heavy with flowers. You smell a hint of pizza in the air, from the late night shop next to campus, and you feel the cool and humid breeze from the ridge on your skin. You take a contented breath.
There are red lights on the path up to the observation deck, along with a sign reminding visitors to put your phone away, so as not to ruin your night vision. When you reach the top, there are dozens of people on the observation deck. They are sitting in camp chairs or laying on yoga mats, heads craned toward the sky. Someone yells, “Two o’clock!”, and everyone snaps to look toward the northeast. You see a fiery green streak of light, and a ripple of “oohs” and “ahhs” passes over the crowd.
You, Joshua, and Mayor Ashley all get yoga mats from the Observatory Library, a shed where the trail meets the deck. As you find an open space to lay out your mats, an older person in a camp chair whispers to you with excitement, “It looks like we’ll be able to see the Northern Lights tonight, too.”
You say, “Really? I didn’t think that was even possible this far south.”
They say, “It’s very rare. We may or may not see it, because of the Moon. Set yourself up so you’re facing north.” You do as you’ve been told, laying down so that your feet face the river. The Moon is still low in the sky, hiding behind the treeline, glowing a deep yellow through the canopy, and practically shimmering in the night air.
You have started to doze off when the crowd gasps, bringing you back to alertness. You look up and see a series of magenta pulses arcing through the sky. Mayor Ashley grabs your arm and says, “Can you see it? Can you see it?”
You say, “Oh yes, you bet I can.”
The meteors trace occasional vivid lines over the backdrop of the aurora, and the crowd murmurs with delight. You feel the firm wooden deck supporting your body through the yoga mat, and you hear the chorus of the forest at night, joined by the quiet voices all around you. You take in the majestic show playing out overhead, and you draw in a deep breath.
Joshua yawns and says, “I feel like a kid at a slumber party. I don’t want to go to bed.”
Mayor Ashley props herself up on an elbow and faces both of you. She says, “Nobody told you that you had to go to bed.”
You say, “I started to fall asleep a little.”
Joshua grins and says, “Yeah, we noticed.”
The Mayor wrinkles her nose and says, “I think it’s even better that way. This all feels like a dream. You drift off, open your eyes again, and you see this?” She waves broadly toward the sky, and continues, “Maybe You are doing it just right.”
You say, “Thanks, Your Excellency.”
She chuckles softly and replies, “Vote early and often, that’s all I ask.”
Leave a Reply