So we bundled up in a big flurry, hats and shoes, pajama pants and mittens, then headed out to look at the early evening sky.

The little guy was worried about his pajamas; would anyone notice?

No, it’s too dark, I assured him; they only look like pants.  No one will see the pattern of little lizards and frogs all over your legs, I think, only me.  I’d mind them far more if these creatures were enough to stop our mission.

There are only a few dozen hazy stars in the sky at 7:45 pm EST as we look up from mid-Michigan.  My breath is taken away by the brilliance of Venus, the complete visibility of the entire new and waxing moon, the surprising brightness of Mercury.  I hadn’t expected these to be so wonderful.

Daughter easily picks off the fainter planets, Saturn overhead and Mars just past Venus; Jupiter is a piece of cake, quite bright in its appointed place.  She pivots on one foot as she traces a slow arc over her head from west to east; her arm, wand-like, pausing ever so slightly in the direction of each of six points in the sky.  Mercury.  Moon. Venus. Mars. Saturn. Jupiter.  Like magic.

The little guy is challenged, though; I can’t tell whether he can see Mercury or not, low on the horizon.  We must look for it over the end of our street since trees in adjoining yards are too thick to permit viewing of the western horizon.  Streetlights flood the air, the moon’s crescent casting its own bright light, all working against the feebler Mercurial light.  He points in the right direction and describes a small star; I think he’s got it.

We talk for a moment about the significance of this display; they won’t see this many planets in the evening sky with the naked eye for another 32 years.  My daughter will be nearly my age.  My son laughs at the idea of being a man old enough to have children nearly grown; at six years of age it seems impossible.  They both laugh at the idea of me being as old as their grand parents are.  I’m glad someone thinks that’s humorous; perhaps it’s just the amusing idea of two grownups and a grandparent standing in a driveway at night looking at stars many years from now.

He asks about the other star – no, he says, not the planets, the funny little star by itself. He’d pointed it out earlier on the star chart on the computer, asking about its significance.

Oh.  That one.  Sirius, somewhere in the lower southern portion of the sky.  I point in the general direction, but the house obscures the view.

Ah, he says, it’s in the back yard.  We’ll look for it there tomorrow night.  He toddles off confidently back into the warmth of the house.

I sure hope so, buddy.

7:53:23 PM    comment []