Night Sky

My love affair with the stars (twinkly ones, not the Hollywood variety) began way back in the early years. My dad, science guru that he is, would take me to the observatory at the local college on clear summer nights and show me the stars. The magic is embedded in the memory of the feel of my purple sweatshirt (to ward the chill of early summer nights) and the light of a million radiant stars viewed through a giant telescope.

It continued through nights on the back deck with my mom and dad, picking out constellations, waiting for eclipses, or meteor showers. The blackness pin pricked with needles of light fascinated me and I would stay outside long after the hour and cold had chased my parents inside.

In high school I thought I wanted to by an astrophysicist. And in all of his science teacher glory my dad researched the ins and outs of becoming an astrophysicist. And he brought all the research home to me. And I promptly realized that I was in love with the romanticism of the stars, not the science of them. And then I went and broke my dad's heart and became an English major.

So in college the only vestige of my love of the stars was the cliche Starry Night poster and an astronomy general science class tucked amidst thick Norton Anthologies and piles of poetry chapbooks. Now my love affair pops into my evening walks with Brody. Nights like this one where the night sky is peeking out from beneath silvery clouds and I spend much of the walk with my neck craned upwards. And every little star takes me back to all of those moments with my dad. Each one reminds me that I am thankful for him, for always believing in me and loving me and for all of those magic moments together under the night sky.