August is turning out to be a marvelous month for insomniacs. There's just so much going on between midnight and dawn.

In the wee hours of August 8th, many people were perched on the edge of the couch in robes and slippers hoping to see the landing of the Discovery. Unfortunately for loyal Shuttle enthusiasts, the Discovery was waved off and told to try again 24 hours later due to problematic weather conditions in Florida.

Therefore in the wee hours of August 9th, many people were again perched on the edge of the couch in robes and slippers hoping to see the Discovery land. However, the weather in Florida continued to be uncooperative and the landing was again delayed – more importantly, the final destination was changed. Now instead of Florida, the drama was set to unfold at 5:12 AM Pacific Daylight Time at Edwards Airforce Base on the Mojave Desert in California.

Somehow that seemed just right. That pre-dawn landing into the dark, monochromatic landscape of the Mojave Dessert, the ghostly image of the large, silent glider slipping back onto the surface of the earth, was as haunting and elegant a moment as any in the long history of flight and space exploration. It was a moment strangely filled with both hope and mystery – craft and crew returning to the Mother Ship.

Then the sun rose in California and life went on as usual – but the Music of the Night was not over.

In the wee hours of August 12th, the Perseids made their annual pilgrimage to the night skies. We know – or we think we know – that the Perseid meteor shower is a direct result of the Swift-Tuttle comet. ST takes approximately 130 earth years to make its orbit around the Sun, however the Mother Ship needs just one earth year to complete the orbit; the Mother Ship passes through the tailings of ST with each orbit.

In the moonless hours early on the 12th, the Perseids were there for the taking – a drama not for the faint of heart. No robes and slippers. No edge of the couch. This viewing required hooded sweatshirts, long pants, and a lawn chair. It also required patience and some serious dark adapting. But for the loyal Perseid enthusiasts, bundled up and fearless in the dark, the results were stupendous – the Mother Ship running barefoot across the lawn through the celestial sprinklers in silent celebration and affirmation of the heavens.

Then the sky grew light, the sun rose again and life went on as usual – but still August's Music of the Night is not over.

Now there's the matter of Mars. Surely all of you have received one or more excited messages from friends and New Age Astronomers telling you about August 25th when Mars will be larger than the moon to the naked eye. Oh that it would be so – what a gift that would be to the insomniacs and night owls among us.

But it is not so. Our beloved Internet has not served us well. Mars will be bright, but so will several other of our nearby neighbors in our congenial Solar System. Things will not be magically out of whack, no matter with what certainty you've been told otherwise.

And really, it's for the best if you think about it. If Mars really were larger than the moon – truly that visible to the naked eye – it would be way too close for comfort. The Solar System and its delicate choreography would be thrown off and the gravitational order of things would be disrupted. The Mother Ship would be compromised in ways far more devastating than anything global warming or nuclear winter could precipitate.

Let Mars stay the course, shining brightly in the dark summer sky, everything in its place, and a place for everything – the heavens awash with stars and a few, carefully placed planets, and a meteor shower now and then, so that happily the sun will rise again on the 26th. Life will go on as usual and there will be much, much more Music of the Night.

So let me end this brief summer soliloquy with this thought.

If you have done due diligence to the month of August. If you have spent the time you should be spending – as summer draws to a close with autumn waiting in the wings – amidst family and loved ones, if you have spent time laughing with them in the dark of the wee hours of the morning, happily bundled and braced against the cold, watching crew and craft return to the Mother Ship, or holding your arms wide to race through the tail of a long-past comet, or attempting yet again to discern Ursa Major from Ursa Minor and Orion – you will have savored the Music of the Night.

You will have honored the celestial symphony. You will be ready for the next season, the next year, and all that follows in the days and nights to come. You will be ready to hear the Music of the Night.

August 12, 2005

Peggy Aycinena owns and operates EDA Confidential. She can be reached at peggy@aycinena.com

Copyright (c) 2005, Peggy Aycinena. All rights reserved.