I was out too early, looking to see a few spectacular meteorites from the Perseid meteor shower that is peaking this week. I know a couple of amazing dark spots in the middle of all this urban sprawl. But for some reason my feet took me west until I finally reached Deane Street. The modern trail and street lights they’ve installed are gorgeous. The first stretch looks like an infinite straight strip. On the north side, there is still a huge field that stretches north, with a northern perimeter that has surprisingly few lights to interrupt it. Facing away from the beautiful street lights, it’s one of the best urban views of the northern sky that can be had. It was beautiful before they modernized Deane. It’s still beautiful now, albeit in a different way.

As I walked, I stopped for fifteen seconds every few minutes so that I could watch and scan the sky for meteors. The third time I did so, I saw something running along in the tall grass. It turned out to be a small fox. Further along, I realized it was interested in me. I took out my camera and stood still. That’s how I got this amazing photo that is everything except the fox.

Shortly thereafter, at about 2:45 a.m., the blare of distant police and fire sirens to the south caused unseen animals out in the expanse of the field to howl and yap. I stopped about 100 yards away from the modern veterinary lab on Deane, listening in appreciation. A couple of barn and equipment buildings silhouetted against the sky. And that’s when I got to see my first meteorite streaking like a casual hello. It was short-lived but brilliant. That’s about all you can ask for. A couple of miles of walking in the dark gifted me with the briefest of illuminations. 

As the economy sputters, and as I watch people seemingly dive into erroneous faith that encourages attitudes better left behind us, I stole that damn moment. Of course I would rather see a dozen meteorites. But it is the first bite of pizza that delights, or that split second when you lean in for the kiss you’ve waited for. Everything else is saturation and overindulgence.  

An hour later, I still couldn’t bring myself to turn around. So I looped and walked along the mega car stores and the perimeter of the interstate. Absent traffic, there were amazing views of the night sky.  Once you reach Chicory Place, you’ve encountered what I call Pocket Narnia. No street lights. No buildings. Animals and critters creeping without worry. It is a snippet of a perfect night view. The sound of insects holds its own against the background rumbling of the interstate that now seems to be five miles away.  I can’t imagine that this little piece of Narnia will survive much longer, much like the original Narnia at the end of Leverett. “Everything changes, but not all of it is progress.”

When I took a minute to kneel and chalk a message on the concrete near the desolate Sam’s club, whoever was driving by slowed to a crawl. I ignored them, But also wondered what they thought they were seeing as they watched me leave a message, One that was almost Ecclesiastical.

I was lucky today. Despite walking too many miles, my accidental route didn’t drag me linearly. Had it done so, I would have had to call a friendly Uber to get back home. It amuses me that when I’m out here and forget time, it feels as much like home as sitting in my office chair. 

I’m probably the only one I know who appreciates how beautiful Garland/112 is on these early summer mornings before the sun even considers gracing us. I walked right down the middle of this road that is still somehow two lanes. The dome of the sky enveloped me. The modern buildings the U of A intermittently installed become invisible. The view from there is largely the same as it was seventy years ago. 

As I came parallel to the Y-park, I turned and stopped to listen to the ocean of insects and to briefly remember a late night there forty years ago. My second meteorite of the night interrupted my reverie. If I didn’t know better, I might swear that the universe is trying to remind me that there are no moments unworthy of distraction.

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