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Credit:DavidKinghamPhotography
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As summer
comes to an end here in the northeastern U.S., I usually feel a sense of
sadness come over me. I love summer and hate to see it go. Even this record-setting heat and
humidity we’ve been experiencing for the past few weeks hasn’t put a damper on the season for me. We’ve been
blessed with fresh tomatoes aplenty (three varieties), peppers, zucchinis
(green and golden) and assorted herbs. And I love going shoeless in the yard :-)
The pool has been sparkling clear for my
newly retired husband and Evie, our mutant springer spaniel (I don’t swim,
though; don’t ask why). It’s astounding to realize that it will soon be Labor
Day and schools have already reopened here. The season I wait for through the
endless New England winters (which usually extend into spring) is over seemingly
before it even started.
One reason I’m
feeling a bit blue is that for the umpteenth year in a row, I was unable to
view the Perseid meteor showers. After a spectacular show of fireflies, the
Perseid event is like the finale of a Fourth of July fireworks display. But for
any number of reasons—cloudy skies for the most part, and the light pollution one
experiences living close to cities—they came and went without much ado. Truly
a pity since, according to astronomical forecasts, this year’s event was
supposed to have been especially impressive, a “once in a decade outburst” that
was seen in the southern hemisphere as well. (Read more about the Peseids here.)
I initially
became excited over this phenomenon the summer I graduated
from high school
(ancient history by now), and I remember the awe and excitement of seeing them
for the first time, as if I’d made some sort of unique discovery. It was a cool, mid-August
night and my childhood pal, my beloved mutt Shadow, and I were sitting on one
of the huge boulders at the foot of the driveway at my parents’ home in North
Stamford (no light pollution there amid the trees far from city lights). We
stretched out on the rock, soaking up the last warmth of the day, me on my
back, Shadow in his sphinx-like doggy pose, and gazed up at the clear, starry
sky. The sight was unexpected, with one “shooting star” after another, sometimes
multiple streaking lights at once. Over the next few nights, Shadow and I made
a point to return to our rock. On one night, I stopped counting after more than a hundred
in less than an hour.
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| Evie, aka Dopus Dogimus, in the pool |
When my kids
were small, I would rouse them—and my husband—from their beds at around midnight when the
meteor showers were at their height. We'd lie on chaise lounges or beach blankets
in the back yard and stare up at the sky and wait. But here in Central Connecticut, the sky was never quite
as bright or as clear as it was in those earlier years. After much mumbling and
grumbling on the part of my progeny and hubby—they were bored or tired, or both—we’d call
it quits, usually without seeing a single one.
And so it’s
been for the last 25-plus years. On an occasional August night, I’ve seen one
or two, at most a handful, but in my back yard I have yet to see the Perseid
the way I remember during that magical night when I was eighteen. (Luckily, my
life hasn’t been completely bereft, as they are particularly exquisite over the
Great Paconic Bay on the East End of Long Island, where my husband grew up, or along the Connecticut River
east of here.)
~*~
Kathy
Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, Winter Fire, Lord Esterleigh's Daughter, Courting the Devil, The Partisan's Wife, and The Return of Tachlanad, her latest release, an
epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her The Books We Love Author
page or visit her website. All of
Kathy’s books are available in e-book and in paperback from Amazon.
