Screenshot of my Sky Guide displaying Monoceros – Photo: L. Weikel

AMOs Part 2

You’ll recall from yesterday’s post that AMO stands for Alpha Monocerotid meteor shower, and the AMOs are scheduled to take place this evening.

Technically, the much vaunted burst of shooting stars in tonight’s sky is supposed to start just before midnight. But the wise ones are suggesting that we get ourselves outside, warmed up and our eyes adjusted to the light, by around 11:15 p.m. (eastern time).

The window in which the most meteors will be falling is predicted to be 15 to 20 minutes long, and take place sometime between approximately 11:15 and midnight. So it would seem best to get out there and simply wait. If we’re lucky, the clouds that were scudding across the sky about an hour ago will have dissipated.

Not Enough Heart

I feel as though my last few posts have been far too technical, emphasizing meteor showers and airport telephone charging kiosks, for instance, instead of the aspects of life that stir my soul.

Sometimes, though, the posts I end up writing are based on expediency. They may be keyed to the depth of my tiredness and ultimately simply reflect my commitment to fulfilling my 1111 Devotion and creating my daily Act of Power.

Lately I’ve been feeling as though my circadian rhythms still haven’t caught up to the fact that it’s getting dark really early. And all of a sudden, at just about 10:30, I hit an invisible force field that’s been causing me to fall asleep at my keyboard.

It’s been disconcerting.

Dragging Myself Outside

So here I am. It’s 11:12 p.m. and I am heading out to see if I can witness the AMOs. Karl is asleep on the couch. He’ll express regret that he didn’t come with me to see them (especially if I get outside and the night sky is clear and I manage to see them), but unlike me, he’ll be fine with having seen them vicariously.

While I won’t be able to take any photos, I will report on my experience before posting and going to sleep. I wonder how many of you will be out there at the same time, gazing upward and outward, trying to capture some wonder.

A Bust (Sigh)

Well, I drove myself to a place close by where we often go to experience an expansive vista for celestial events. This evening, perhaps in punishment for my rant against light pollution, there was just enough of a very high level cloud cover to capture an irritating abundance of reflected light, most obviously from the Doylestown area. Indeed, the light was so noticeable that I was actually able to capture it with my iPhone.

Indeed, everywhere I looked, circling 360 degrees as I stood in the middle of the remote country road, the orangey-yellow glow of artificial light on the ground illuminated the high clouds.

The biggest disappointment, though, was when I checked my Sky Guide App and saw that the Monoceros (from which direction the Alpha Monocerotids emanate) appears to be visible near the Milky Way (which was not discernible at all), and I also should have been able to see the constellation of Orion.

Alas, no dice. It was only when I fully comprehended that the vast, seemingly clear night sky was not even yielding the usual stars and constellations that I realized the high, thin cloud cover was, indeed, filtering out any chance of a ‘cluster’ experience.

One Little Piece of Magic

Even though the short road trip was to no avail meteor shower-wise, I did end up switching my radio from the news program Karl had tuned it to while I was away back to my iPod. I was surprised (but not) and had to smile when the iPod came on at the very beginning of Elton John’s Rocket Man.

What a perfect accompaniment. Turns out I wasn’t alone as I sought to catch a glimpse of this special celestial event. If nothing else, that sense of presence was enough to make the excursion well worth my while, and – if I’m honest? It feels a bit more significant than just a ‘little’ piece of magic.

Thanks, Karl.

(T-736)