August 28, 2003 - Mars Magic

Musings an Online Journal of Sorts By Alyce Wilson
August 28, 2003 - Mars Magic
	Last night, Mars was the closest it has been to the Earth in something like 5,000 years. It was also a night of overcast skies for the Philadelphia area, where I live. I had a guest coming to view the Red Planet with me, eat some strawberries and read a little poetry. So naturally, things went askew at work and I had to work frantically to get done on time. Serves me right for making plans on a week night.
When Haley's Comet made its famed trek by the earth back in 1986, my family was giddy with excitement. You see, Dad had met Mom while they were both science majors at college. (Once again, proof that I had no chance to escape my heritage of geekdom.) My brother, too, was a science freak and even my younger sister, who still insisted on playing Barbies with me at every opportunity, was excited. It was like Christmas morning for them, but 100 times better. They sat down with their star charts and figured out the best time to view it: 3 a.m. On that special morning, my Mom woke me with childlike glee. In a hushed voice, she said, "It's time." I followed her downstairs, still in my nightgown. They'd set up my brother's telescope on the front porch, and Mom and Dad had already pointed it at the comet. We each took turns, and when it was mine, I pressed my eye against the telescope... I wish I could remember what it looked like. I seem to remember a sort of bright shape with "ears" ... but maybe that was Saturn, viewed from the Penn State Observatory during my Astronomy 101 course. What matters most, all these years later, was my family standing on the front porch, sharing a rare moment, in the mystical quiet of early morning. I'd seen Mars earlier that week, at the Philadelphia Folk Festival. The announcer kept pointing it out from the stage, "And our special guest, Mars!" My sister and I would sweep the sky with our eyes. "Where? Where?" we were calling. We decided it must be the bright orange-reddish, unmoving light to the southeast. My sister, no surprise, was the one who'd told me about this special moment for Mars. So it was great that we got to view it together. Last night, my guest and I sat on my back stoop and looked for Mars. My neighbors, uncharacteristically, had left their back porch light on, which spilled yellow light into the already nebulous darkness. But up to the left, high in the sky, persistent and unmoving, was Mars. Impervious to fog or light, that marvelous beacon shown on. Bright enough, perhaps, to live on in memory, along with Neruda and Sonia Sanchez, strawberries and stories.
Moral: Mars does not go gently into that good night. Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson Musings Index
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