I crept outside clad in my fleece jacket and black faux fur hat at 1:45 am to catch the late show of Leonid Meteors on Ice. I brought a folding chair, cotton blanket and pillow and made myself comfortable on the patio. I propped my feet on a lawn chair that had a thin film of ice on the seat and settled in to watch the meteors.

It was about 35 degrees out so I rolled the brim of my hat down behind my neck and over my ears, zipped my fleece up to my chin and tucked my hands under my arms to keep the chill at bay. I sank my head back into my pillow, looked heavenward and was dazzled by the pyrotechnic display. Big, bright meteors blazed across the sky leaving sparkly tails behind that slowly disintegrated.

The sky was as clear and sharp as I've seen in months. I hadn't originally planned to go outside for the meteor shower because around here, we can go months in the winter without seeing a single star because it's always raining or about to rain. But last night was spectacular. And spectacularly cold. There was frost on the grass and on the naked trees in the yard and I could hear little balls of ice fall off the tree occasionally and tink against the frozen strawberry leaves below.

In the dark, in the night, the sounds of the highway that goes through my small down are magnified like the moon is magnified by the atmosphere when it is low on the horizon. During the day, I can't even hear the road noise but last night, I could hear cars and trucks accelerating, speeding away, stopping, idling. I could also hear the occasional honk of a Canada goose or two flying overhead. Sometimes I heard an owl hooting in the woods behind my backyard.

It felt strange to be in my darkened backyard by myself, in the cold and in the middle of the night. I identified as many constellations as I could. Orion was right overhead and Taurus was just to the left, over my house. As I sat under the stars, I thought a lot about the enormity of the universe and the infinitessimal part I play in the whole scheme of things in this universe. I thought a lot about God and marveled at the beauty that was engineered as part of this divine plan. It made me feel small but also made me feel comforted. Seeing God's handiwork up close and personal brings me great comfort. I spent part of my time under the stars in prayer, feeling a great sense of communion there in the cold, alone, just me and God.

And then I thought about how Angelbutt and Herworship were also outside under the cloak of darkness looking at the very same stars and meteors at the very same time as I was. Perhaps we all three uttered the same gasp at a particularly bright meteor with a long-lasting tail. The distance between us faded and I felt anew how small our world is and how much smaller it has gotten with technology like television, telephone, and the internet. I have friends all over the world, many of whom I've never laid eyes on and likely never will, but they are friends nonetheless. And we can go out at night and cast our gaze to the sky and see the same constellations and the same meteors. And for a moment, distance means nothing.

I like that.

--L