The other morning I was walking down my driveway to fetch my newspaper. It was semi-dark and still fairly quiet as the morning commute traffic on the main road hadn’t picked up yet. My driveway is a long straight affair about an eighth of a mile long that runs due east. As I came down it I could see the moon sitting directly over the end of the driveway. It was a crescent but it was extremely bright and just to it’s left and only slightly lower was a glowing Venus. Both almost glowed in the early morning light. It was an impressive sight.
This brought to mind how far removed we have become from real interaction with the natural world. We no longer know the night sky as we once did. In most cities it’s hard to even see the night sky. There’s something about this that is a bit sad. Watching the stars has a calming effect , almost like connecting with the greater universe as it turns in its epic motion. It gives me a sense of proportion. On second thought, maybe that’s why many don’t want to see that sky. They don’t want to be reminded that they are not the center of the universe, that they are small cogs in a great machine.
A couple of months back, I went outside with my best girl Jemma (she’s our great little big dog, a Corgi who was rescued from an Amish puppymill a few years back after all the overbreeding had left her with breast cancer -but that’s another story) and we were on the wooden walkway in the cool, dry winter air. I laid down and looked directly upward. After a few moments a shooting star broke into my sight from a point above my head. My eyes caught it immediately. It traveled straight down the length of my body and kept going to a point where I was looking several feet beyond my own feet, crossing almost the entire visible sky sky above me before suddenly disappearing. It was a blazer, the kind where as you watch you can distinguish the flames being pushed to either side by whatever is causing this. It was, by far, the most remarkable shooting star I’ve ever seen.
And I wondered how many people were looking up at that moment, how many saw that brief second or two of brightness and brilliance? In another time that would have probably been viewed as an omen of things to come or some sign from the heavens but now such a thing is barely noted. But to those who saw it, it brought back that primal thrill of seeing a grand event firsthand.
The painting shown is a small piece from 1995 that I call Night Sky. It just kind of fit the post.
Reminder!
I’m asking for your help in naming this painting and am offering a prize (it’s better than you think though it doesn’t involve air travel or posh resorts) for the title that I deem fitting for the piece.
So put on your thinking caps and let me know your title for this painting. Even if it’s not chosen as the final name, your title will be included on the painting’s reverse side for all of eternity. Well, for an extended period of time. I’m just not so sure about eternity.
So, submit your title by simply commenting or email me at info@gcmyers.com
I look forward to your titles.
Redtree Times 