Cooler nights

It is midnight, and I just picked up Johann from the canola field about six kilometers away where he and Carl took turns swathing today. 

It is not as cool yet as it has been other nights in the last little while, but the approach of fall is decidedly noticeable. Days are so much shorter already: the sun sets at about a quarter to nine now, and it doesn’t peek over the horizon until six-thirty in the morning. 

The moon, past half full, hung big and tangerine just above the trees to the southwest, like one of those candied make-belief orange slices. Now, it has slipped below the horizon, and all that remains is the glorious starry night.

It was much like that two weeks ago today for the Perseid meteor shower. Much anticipated, it was supposed to be one of the most spectacular in a while, and I was happy to see no sign of clouds at sunset. The best chance of meteor watching would be after midnight, when the night was at its darkest. 

As I do most nights before I go to bed I stepped out on the deck. This time, however, I was determined to stay until I had seen at least a few shooting stars. It was a bit cold, but since I didn't want to let that keep me from this wonderful experience I put on my snow suit and wrapped myself in a blanket, then pulled up a deck chair and tilted my head back. The Milky Way alone, its arc of light spanning the sky from northeast to southwest, would have been worth being out there for, but soon my wish was granted. 

For more than half an hour I sat there, watching spellbound how, one after the other, the bursts of light kept coming, streaking the velvet sky. After about twenty I quit counting and simply enjoyed. What a treat!

Leo was with me, of course - no way he'd miss a chance to cuddle up. Initially when I sat down he thought he was going to sit in my lap, or rather drape his front end over me, but it wasn't very comfortable for either one of us, and he plunked down beside me, taking short barking excursions when he heard something in the distance. Strangely, he didn't seem to react to the coyotes’ yelping but to things I couldn't hear. But what do I know? I'm not a dog.

Now, he is quiet: he, too, must be tired, just like me. Harvest has arrived, and the next few weeks will be busy, sometimes even stressful. The stars, however, will move along their prescribed paths, and I will delight in them often when, weary and dusty, I come home from a long day’s work in the field.