The Lights Worth Remembering

The stars shine even here

Photo by Bartek Garbowicz on Unsplash

The stars have surprised us. At the farm, assuming a clear night, the stars were vibrant and everywhere. It was one of the joys of moving out of the city. Light pollution in the country is at a minimum, and I remember our giddiness at first discovering the glittering night sky. The stars and, of course, the moon. But the moon enjoys enough heft to stand out no matter where. The stars, by contrast, are more delicate. Readily soluble in the tidal waves of street lights, stars are easy to overlook. It’s easy in the city to forget the celestial magic just overhead.

So it was that we moved to our new suburban home with low nocturnal expectations. Our community being a fringe urban appendage to one of the great midwestern metropolitan areas, we assumed that the lumen spillage from the Twin Cities would wash out our night sky. We imagined a milky, murky grayness overhead after sunset. An ambiguous blur. No longer light, but not quite dark. Stars would have to wait for field trips into the country.

But as with so many resigned expectations, we were wrong. Perhaps we are further away from the Cities than we thought. Perhaps the stars are bolder than we were crediting them. All I know is that walking the dogs before bedtime one recent night, we happened to look up. That’s no small act. We have been so preoccupied with unpacking boxes, and protecting our exposed skin from sub-zero temps and hurrying back inside that we hadn’t taken the time to look up. Our preoccupation has been down and in, rather up and out. But there they were, diamonds against the black velvet sky. Waiting for us to notice.

Glimmers of more than. More than our boxes. More than our lack of furniture. More than the constant news reports of what has felt like an enemy occupation, and the killing fields that have haunted our days. More than our awkwardness of unfamiliarity. More than our fatigue. More than our loss of identify before a new one is discerned. More than. More than simply darkness. There are stars overhead. Visible, not just abstractly present. Actual.

Stars.

We exclaimed. We marveled. We smiled at the discovery. And we chastened ourselves for neglecting to remember to look, with the expectation of seeing something miraculous. Stars, here and not just there. Glimmers in the darkness.

Amd suddenly I’m reminded of that Christmas Eve promise: “The light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Indeed. And the remembering is simply looking up.