Every Morning Should Begin with a Cold Shower

A Meteor Shower, That Is (On Waiting for the Orionids this Morning, plus, a poem)

Yesterday morning, when I took Bonnie out before leaving for work, the night sky above me told a thousand stories. We rounded the house under starlight, the big dipper pouring fairie dust over our steps. I walked blind, unable to lower my eyes from the lightshow, my neck already stiff from up-looking. I said hello to Orion, just as a meteor streaked from his belt. Ah! Yes! I thought. The Orionid meteor shower is this week! I lingered longer than usual, wistfully praying for another glimpse of streaking light, but Bonnie did not like the dew-soaked grass and she tugged on her leash to go back inside to her warm bed. I made a mental note to remember, to make a deliberate effort to watch for shooting stars.

To listen to this post (and Bonnie snoring, and Jeff playing guitar in the background):

And I am an amnesiac because through the course of the day, after seeing one patient after another, I completely forgot the gift of the morning lights. So, when my eyes opened at four-thirty a.m. this morning, and I heard a whisper on the edge of my dreams—remember? it susurrated in my ear—though my bed was warm and I knew the pre-dawn air would be cold, I heeded its quiet insistence.

I tiptoed downstairs and rummaged in the hall closet for my big puffy coat and a soft toboggan. Then I wrapped myself in a fleece blanket and walked out under the night sky. It was chilly, in the mid-thirties, but with my fleecy insulation, it didn’t feel too bad. The only thing that got cold was my bare feet, so I tucked them in under the blanket and lay down on my back, making sure I had Orion in my sights. Our little neighborhood has its share of light pollution, but the autumn sky was clear and the stars above me winked their bright white light.

I kept my gaze soft, trying to widen my scope, aware the meteors don’t care where I expect them to be. After about half an hour, I had seen nothing but the brilliant still sky, a couple airplanes, and one wandering satellite. Shower my eye, I thought to myself, disappointedly. But I couldn’t be too sad, as the cold stung my face, nipped my nose, heightened my awareness of this amazing dome spread out above me. When was the last time I had gotten lost in the night sky, let it hold me and sweeten the day to come? Too long. If all I see is this feast of sugared sky, I thought, it will be enough. I shifted my focus to the sounds around me. At first all I heard was the sound of distant traffic, but I focused deeper and heard the songs of various insects and a barred owl call nearby, but mostly … silence. This, in itself, added to my sense of smallness and I felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude wash over me.

I began to grow sleepy in my cozy nest and I whispered words of love up to the heavens, thinking I might give in to this heaviness in my eyes, my body, my spirit. Just then, out of the corner of my eye … meteor! shooting from Rigel, giving my heart a lift. Then came two more in rapid succession, one straight through the hunter’s tight belt, the other seeming to come straight out of Betelgeuse, that red supergiant. And I was awake now and for some reason, my cheeks were damp from fresh tears. Thank you, I whispered to the Sky. Thank you.

Bonnie was waiting for me just inside the door. I’d been outside for forty-five minutes, only seeing meteors in the last fifteen. But every second under that night sky was restorative. I trudged back inside and curled up on the couch, Bonnie spooning my abdomen and giving me a little bit of her puppy warmth.

I fell back to sleep with starlight on my skin, swallowing the night into my dreams.

**

Here’s a little poem I wrote several years ago after watching for the Orionid meteors.

A Poem is a Meteor
(inspired by From the “Adagia” by Wallace Stevens. And life.)

this morning at 5:23, I
rose in the dark, went
out back and lay myself
flat in the sleeping dew to
watch for meteors

it was past peak for the
Orionid showers but
still, I focused my eyes
on the radiant point, just
beyond Betelgeuse

the damp soaked through
my robe; the French doors, a
frame of light, illuminated
Bonnie, waiting on the stair—
licking paws to pink

above, a glitter-flecked
sky shimmered stories in the
night, as light began to spill
on the horizon. and I, still
and shivering, waiting,
trying to catch a poem.