Star Date 2016.09.17
08:28 – I roll out of bed and into meditation. After a late and fitful night, I am grateful for the overcast skies that kept the light muted so I could sleep. The open window welcomes a gentle breeze and its wreath of birdsong.
11:04 – Eleven seems a little early for beer, but I’m diligent about our 100% ID check as we sell drink tickets for the street festival. I ignore the eye rolling and enjoy the casual banter. We’re a friendly foursome of random volunteers. The musicians on the stage behind us make any real conversation nearly impossible. We tap and bop along, their most reliably appreciative audience.
13:42 – The neighborhood is comparatively quiet as I put a mile between myself, beer tickets and the bands. Freshly paved streets give the air an acrid edge. I admire the smooth blackness with its occasional entombed leaf embellishments.
16:05 – Mic in hand, earphones on head, I draw passersby into conversations about curiosity. Parents with kids are my best bet, guys with beer, not so much. The man in the ape suit promoting the gym two booths down walks past and taps my mic, nodding inscrutably. I wonder how hot that hairy mask must be.
18:31 – In the cool blue light of the planetarium, I am grateful to be off my feet. The dome’s sky darkens, stars emerge and I am transported.
20:20 – We cluster around the telescope at the top of the parking lot and admire the barely waning gibbous moon. Mic again in hand, I try to capture the appreciative murmurs as we gaze upward, our enthusiasm wrapped in the comfortable anonymity of soft darkness.
22:35 – In college my friend B. had a friend E. who had a way with words. To my northeastern ears his soft Kentucky drawl was exotic and wildly expressive. I would dissolve in sympathetic exhaustion when he complained “mah dogs are tired.” Tonight, my dogs are tired.