...certainly aren't what they were on those long summer nights over on Elm Street. Not that I have any notion of what the Texas night sky looked like over River City back when Hank Williams died, for that is stretching the old long-term memory about as far as these few remaining brain cells can take. Back along that track, I do remember the one old lone street light; naked bulb hanging beneath a rippled metal shade that was dark green on top and white underneath. It cast a kind of eerie yellowish light, scarcely bright enough to cast a shadow of its own pole. With such wimpy excuses for lighting back then, the cloudless night skies had to be lousy with stars!
Mr. Beano--bad ass Beano who had a fit and went after Bob cat and got us both tossed out to The Cave--and I sat out from dusk to straight up dark last night. First time since Annie and I moved onto this place last December that I've just sat out to watch and listen to the night settle in. No, the mosquitoes aren't bad. One of the few-and-far-between positive side effects of a drought!
The stars, on the other hand, are pitiful! Just pitiful!
The fault, of course, lies not with the stars but with our way of doing urban communal living. We so fill the night with our artificial lights that the natural lights of the sky are a wash. None but the biggest and brightest get through, and our old familiar constellations are losing points. Mankind's first stories are written in those myriad points of light.
Stargazers who also are into Facebook might want to check out Star and Sky.
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