Missing the starry nights

"Starry Nights," 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting card

One of the beauties of winter  are the clear cold nights when you can really see the stars.

I miss that the most about living in urban America. You really need to be someplace rural, far away from the light and noise and other pollution of too many people.

It's not just my emotion, but those of many through the years...consider the words of the Christmas carol, "Silent Night"--"Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright...."

It's gotten worse through the years as population has exploded. I can remember growing up in Albuquerque, when you could step outside at night and actually see with the naked eye the Milky Way. Now you can find a trace of it in the city, using binoculars.

It's not just nostalgia either, but a yearning, an awareness of the grandeur and vastness of creation.

So, today's watercolor card---postponed by two days because of winter's ice storm, as we've fretted the sounds of tree limbs cracking and collapsing around us. At  least the sun came out today, so tonight, at least I'll be able to see a few stars.

Last look at the Milky Way, last book of the year

Can you see the Milky Way? Probably not, anymore.

Light pollution, where night fades from our lives, is increasing around the world faster than population growth.

So I learned reading my 31st book this year, a Christmas present from sons Vance and Travis Clark, about our beloved Glacier National Park in northern Montana.

Glacier National Park, After Dark, by John Ashley, records a 30-year, 100-night project of this photographer, writer, naturalist, biologist and more.

Yes, he's been up all night shooting stars and planets and more, sometimes in -21 degree weather, in one of the last "dark places" on the planet.

He mixes science, astronomy, biology, history and Native American traditional stories and names with his fantastic photography. A deep bibliography, astronomy schedules through 2024, tips on night photography, and a plea to curb light pollution fill out this wonder of research and meticulous footnotes.

I can remember seeing the Milky Way when I was growing up. Now you have to be in rural areas, and sometimes then with binoculars. In darker areas, the stars knock your eyes out. 

It's no accident that astronomy clubs, like the one in Oklahoma City, go to the end of the Oklahoma Panhandle once a year to view the stars. I can remember watching them wheel overhead when camped out at Chaco Canyon. 

Light pollution is not just about seeing stars--it affects the lives and life rhythms of all live on this planet. 

Ashley's photography calls me back, to go again to Glacier, and to be able to see the stars, before they, like the glaciers, are gone.

A quote from iconic Doug Peacock (if you don't know who Doug Peacock is, I'm sorry) on the back cover brings it home.
Here's a snippet: "Ashley shows us how we are losing the heavens that we humans have watched and have informed our kind for millennia; artificial light pollution is erasing the night sky. And, on our radically changing planet, we will need that stellar anchor."

Another trip around the sun

"Birthday Journey," 5 by 7 watercolor, 140 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

Specks. That's all we are on this planet, in this solar system, in this galaxy, in this universe. Fluid specks, atoms constantly moving in space and time.
"You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes," --James 4:14.
Nothing like a birthday to put life, existence, in perspective. Every  moment is a journey that cannot be repeated.
Maybe that's one reason seeing the stars at night make me happy, especially in rural areas where you can still see the Milky Way. 
Nothing is permanent, and we waste time and effort pursuing, valuing material things and goals that delude us into thinking we are more than just specks in a fluid universe.
Enjoy now.

Day 5 of #WorldWatercolorGroup "Happy" challenge.