I went out just in time to see a meteor. Those that are random and unexpected are always more enjoyable to me than those that are part of a shower. Reminders of all the stuff that's out there are a nice distraction from the crowding concerns of the world. Each tiny fragment that burns a faint streak and vanishes was once part of something much larger that wandered space even when dinosaurs wandered the fields of the earth. I sometimes wonder if dinosaurs ever noticed the stars, or saw the passing comets or the approaching meteor that made the hole in Yucatan. I sometimes wonder if little bits of Earth will one day burn out in the atmospheres of planets yet unborn. I sort of like the idea of some charred atoms of mine (formerly parts of turtles or roses or rocks) settling into a strange ocean lit by some distant star, ages and ages hence. I like to imagine it as I drift to sleep. I suspect that it might improve my dreams.
A still and sunny afternoon, decorated by a few wisps of cirrus clouds, gave way to an evening of rising breezes. The oaks, nearly bare, surrender a few more of their diminishing horde of desiccated, brown leaves, which skitter along the pavement and among the dancing shadows of moonlit pines. The dense fog which spent the day lying in the valley will not creep this high tonight, as long as the north wind prevails. Still, there is a haziness to the atmosphere which hides the lesser stars. The early onset of dusk reminded me that we are but days from the longest night of the year, and the official start of winter. Strange that December has felt more autumnal than did rainy, cold November this year. Despite the rushing wind, and the near-nakedness of the trees, tonight is sufficiently mild as to seem as though fall has only lately begun. Ah, the pine-scented air!