Catch a Falling Star and Put it in Your Pocket

I am ready for this year's Perseid Meteor Shower.

The Perseid meteor shower has a wonderful and somewhat grisly history. Often referred to as the "Tears of St. Lawrence" this annual shower coincidentally occurs roughly about the same date as the saint's death is commemorated on August 10. While scientifically we know the appearance of the shooting stars are the by-products of comet Swift-Tuttle, our somewhat more superstitious ancestors viewed them as the tears of a martyred man who was burned for his beliefs. Who couldn't appreciate a fellow who had the candor to quip, “It is well done. Turn me over!" while being burned alive? If nothing else but save for that very quote, I'll tip a wave to St. Lawrence at the sight of a Perseid tonight.

This evening Wally and I will join Rae Anne where she’s camping in Oxbow Park. We’ll look for a clearing and hope for a cloudless sky (unlikely, according to weather reports). Scanning the skies for the annual shower of space dust long has been a favorite past time in our family. In the early 90’s the most wonderful show of all occurred! We parked on Lone Pine Highway, the very deserted and dark back road to Wrightwood in the San Gabriel Mountains. Usually we encountered few fellow observers as we performed our annual celestial pilgrimage. However, word had spread that the close return of Swift-Tuttle in 1992 heralded a record-setting storm of meteors and no one wanted to miss the show! The road was lined with dozens of cars and vans with people spread all over the landscape, craning their necks for a total view of the heavens. We were delighted! This was Southern California: usually the stars that caught the attention of the populace were the ones found in Hollywood! Who knew so many people would care to make the effort to watch this heavenly production? It delighted us, especially, to see the number of children whose parents were providing this brilliant moment for them. Way to go, Mom and Dad!

We have watched the Perseids from every natural plane imaginable: from desert floor, from mountaintop, from coastal sand, even from a rooftop or two. My favorite venue was watching the skies, lying on a blanket on the dusty ground of Table Mountain above the Mohave Desert. Sigh. Best view on the planet – at least, it was the best view. Then civilization swarmed into the desert, spilling over the sand like hungry locusts, raising the specter of ambient light that robbed the pristine firmament of its night.

Now we await the mid-August theater from our perch on a mountain in Oregon. Clear skies are not a given, so we have to hope for the best. Still, it’s good to know that the show continues, just as it has for centuries. It doesn’t matter if we get a good view; it does matter that we make the effort. This meteor shower, appearing as regularly as the tides, reinforces our connection to the universe. We can make the choice to be a part of something over which we have no control; on our puny calendars we can foolishly “schedule” a visit from the stars and believe for a moment that the show is for us – that somehow God is tipping His hat to us and dusting us with a little star power - to delight our senses and fill our souls.