[Audio only, of Julia and Amy; Perseid watching, Emigration Canyon, August 13, 2016].
[The following is the comment I left on a friend’s blog; writing it made me cry for I’m trying to finish/revise a blog about an emotionally-intense evening spent with a vulnerable neighbor I barely know, in which the song “Tiny Dancer” played a part, and making this comment on my friend’s post helped me understand the bigger message behind that evening and other seemingly-unrelated events; so I’m mashing three events–the evening spent with my neighbor and in-progress blog, my comment on my friends blog, and a middle of the night jaunt with my daughters and a friend searching for comets–together in this Facebook-post equivalent of a “mini-blog” because there’s a synchronicity here that seems important, for I now understand the significance of “Tiny Dancer”; Tiny Dancer is actually the dreamer in us all; the astronaut who doesn’t let her wonder at the sky falter even when she knows she won’t ever experience it in the way she most desires, and the synchronicity of it brings me full-circle to where I myself am staring in awe at the magic of an unknown and beautiful universe].
“So on the very day I read this, my daughters, one of their friends and I headed up one of the canyons after they got off work to watch the Perseids; we thought there’d be no one there at that time and place but it was packed, and we had to search for a parking spot. Everyone had the same idea, some people even brought their little ones, whose voices carried through the air along with the low sound of radios, and the laughter of adults. We laid on top of the car–hood, back and roof–and snuggled under blankets (naturally, the air is colder the higher up you go so we needed them) and, at one point, I was sleepy and knew my eyes would be closing soon, so I set my iPhone up to videotape the sky, thinking how cool it would be if it recorded a meteor while I rested. But it didn’t; instead it got 4 minutes of magic when my daughter was pointing out planets and constellations, the excitement in her voice so powerful for, even though she is too short to live her dream of becoming an astronaut, she still lives it every time she looks at the dark sky and feels the pull of the Universe.
I hope you had some magic in your trip too. Wee voices, comets, dark skies and dreams, whether lived or imagined.”
[Maybe returning to this mini-mashup-blog will assist me in putting the larger blog into words suitable to a universe filled with emotional evenings perhaps whose sole purpose is to guide us to revelatory experiences].