It was fairly late in the evening and we had reduced the number of lights on in the house, as was customary to help get in the mood for sleep. My wife went out on the deck for a while. I read at the dining room table. A few minutes later she came in smiling and spoke as if she was sharing a great little secret: "Come on outside. I have a surprise for you!"
I could only guess that it was some kind of sky sight, as she knows how much I like astronomy. When I first went out I said "I can't see a thing. It will take a few minutes for my eyes to get dark-adapted." Meanwhile in this oblivious state I mused: aurora? meteors? Slowly, magnitude by magnitude ever fainter stars came into my vision. When it clarified down to the fourth magnitude I saw it: the Milky Way in rare dark-sky splendor.
Once she got me out there, nobody could tear me away. I sat way back in a lounge chair and tried to remember what had attracted me so early in life to the stars. Lacking any new insight on that topic, I decided to take an imiginary star trip. I felt no particular attraction to any one star, so I tried to imagine the sight before me for what it really was: the foreground stars are like nearby trees, the fainter ones can be imagined as a look into the woods, finally the Milky Way is like the deep forest, a general blur in which individual trees cannot be distinguished. It was not long before I succeeded in perceiving the heavenly sight that way. (The illustration at the left is intended to help visualize stars of farther and farther distances showing as fainter and fainter individuals and finally, the most distant ones blending into the distant general blur.)
It then recurred to me that every night we are privileged to look


1 comment:
And how lucky we are that it is aligned so that we get to see it horizon to horizon some nights! Not in the LA basin though, just when we go back home to darker skies :) I don't understand the illustration on the left, but I'll take a look at it again tomorrow.
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