Day 2: Perseid Meteor Shower
My wife and I drove 20 minutes to a mountain overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway to gaze at the sky as celestial bodies, with a mixture of mystery and predictability, rocketed through the expansive summer night.
We lay snuggled together on a dog bed we happened to have with us. It was too dark and the meteors too sporadic to take pictures. There was nothing to capture this moment but my imperfect memory.
I felt so small and yet so full. I was a speck of matter in an incomprehensively vast universe, but I was brimming with thoughts, anxieties, dreams, and life. Mainly life. By just being here, my fellow living creatures and I had already won the ultimate lottery.
This moment was so short within the endless flow of time. It could contain something so momentous as a harbinger that Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons were to be born. It could contain something so simple and precious as the warmth of my wife’s body touching mine with the stars all around us.
This is a humbling reminder.
I have access to a sky unpolluted with light or smog.
At night, I have the freedom to leave the home I own with the wife to whom I’m legally married.
I have the leisure to take an evening drive through my relatively safe, sleepy country town.
I have nearly perfect (though bespectacled–thanks healthcare) vision to watch one of the most dazzling lightshows nature has to offer.
I have so much that others do not.