It Begins

Saturn looked like an olive on a toothpick. If there were a martini large enough, it would float. (Really.)

The Strawberry Moon ducked behind the oak on this shortest night, throwing beams down at the horse pond. A mockingbird sang in the distance. I scanned the sky from the back deck.

The mighty rings of Saturn are wide enough to stretch two thirds of the way from Earth to the Moon, yet are at most 1 kilometer thick (and as thin as 30 feet in some places). Every 13-15 years, the tilt of the planet in the dance of the solar system makes them vanish from our view.

As a deer stamped his hoof and snorted at me from the hollow near the treeline, I peered through the telescope, seeing the rings nearly edge on. They’re supposed to “disappear” in 2025. Now they looked like a toothpick, spearing the globe of Saturn.

The moon peeked out from between the oak branches. The clock struck 2:30 am. I went back inside. What a start to summer.

***

At a more reasonable hour, I bounded outside to greet the clear blue sky. It’s the first day after solstice, and the first full day of summer. The smells and sounds brought me back to those halcyon days of boyhood. The sprinkler sounded the same as it cranked up. It fell over, so I fixed it, miscalculated, and caught the stream square on my back in an unsuccessful run away.

Some things never change.

The light caught the water from the front yard’s sprinkler (barely outsmarted), turning it into diamonds falling into the waiting emerald that is the new lawn. A hawk circled above, crying triumphantly.

Well, I don’t speak hawk, but how could it be anything else?

–Josh