Catch a falling star

Last night we went for a walk to catch a glimpse of the famed meteor shower. This was rumoured to be the best of the year, better even than the one in August. Although the peak was supposed to be between midnight and dawn, during which there were supposed to be in excess of two shooting stars a minute, we hoped to see a good show before bedtime.

It was bitterly cold. We bundled up, and we were still shivering. But the wonder was well worth the effort. It was a dark and moonless night, and the winter sky shone brightly. (I loved learning, in astronomy class long ago, why it is that there are so many bright stars in the winter sky: because in the winter we are facing outwards, toward the dark emptiness of space, but since our solar system is located on the edge of one of the spiral arms of the galaxy, we are close to the stars in the spiral arm. In the summer, we are facing into the centre of the galaxy, but first we gaze across a vast emptiness of darkness before the Milky Way. So in the summer, you have a splendid sprawl of hazy brilliance but not so many stars of high magnitude, whereas in the winter you have a spectacular line-up of bright stars.) We walked for three minutes before the wind became bitterly cold and we turned back. Before going in we stood for a little while gazing up at the sky. And there was a glorious shooting star which we both saw quite distinctly! It all seemed very magical. 'What are we supposed to do, make a wish or something?' Michael asked. 'I don't know, something special,' I said. So we kissed, and then ran indoors to warmth, blessed warmth.

Speaking of which, plans are underway (we're 2.5 weeks out now, that's a head start compared to last year) for some kind of New Year's Eve party for our circle of newly-married friends, a.k.a. People Who Have Someone To Kiss At Midnight.