It is late. At the end of the dock I sit and shut off my
flashlight. One by one the stars present themselves on a moonless summer night,
my eyes growing accustomed to the darkness.
First I spot the biggies: the seven stars of the Big Dipper, and,
trailing the arc of its handle, the astonishingly bright Arcturus in the constellation Bootes; to
the south, red Antares, the heart of the Scorpion; directly overhead, the
asterism of the Summer Triangle – Vega in Lyra, Altair in Aquila the Eagle, and
Deneb in Cygnus the Swan. Within moments it seems these pinpoints of light no
longer present themselves one by one but a hundred by a hundred: Draco the
Dragon; Sagittarius the Waterbearer and a coincidently nearby Jupiter; the body
detail of Ursa Major, the Big Bear, in which the Big Dipper lies; the asterisms
Northern Crown and Northern Cross; even the dim and diminutive dolphin
Delphinus. I begin to see satellites, coursing usually northerly, some so dim
they can only be seen with averted vision against a seemingly motionless
backdrop. Finally comes what I have been hoping for, the crowning joy of the
night sky, the test of what constitutes, for me, a truly good night of seeing:
the
Milky Way begins to slowly 'reverse fade' into view;
Milky Way begins to slowly 'reverse fade' into view;
The Big Dipper in the constellation Ursa Major |
horizon to horizon, from north of Queen Cassiopeia
to horizon’s end south of the Teapot.
All the stars were showing immediately when I shut the light off
several minutes ago, but I could not see them. It is my eyes that needed
adjustment. My pupils had contracted indoors to protect my eye’s sensitive rods
from light’s intensity. And now as they
dilate in the dark, they gather dimmer light as a larger telescope would, and I am able to see clearly things formerly not visible just moments ago. It seemed near pitch black blindness when the flashlight went out, but as my eyes have adjusted to the darkness I sense enough light to not only move around the dock without falling in, but to leave the light in my pocket and take a walk, or push out over black water for a midnight paddle.
dilate in the dark, they gather dimmer light as a larger telescope would, and I am able to see clearly things formerly not visible just moments ago. It seemed near pitch black blindness when the flashlight went out, but as my eyes have adjusted to the darkness I sense enough light to not only move around the dock without falling in, but to leave the light in my pocket and take a walk, or push out over black water for a midnight paddle.
The light shines in the
darkness, and the darkness
has not overcome it.
(John 1:5)
There is light in my darkness. My night vision has been enhanced.
Lord, with darkness all around how I need enhanced night vision, a
different kind than that I experience sitting here at the end of a dock.
Even the darkness is not dark to
you; the night is as bright as the day, for to you darkness is as the light. (Psalm
139:12)
The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:5)
~~RGM, from an earlier journal entry,
Adapted for Blog June 11, 2013
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