Shooting Stars and Suicidal Humming Birds Musing

Meteors and other Minor Miracles

The last time I saw a meteor shower, I was in college. It was the Leonid meteor shower, and it came at a time when I remember feeling that God was distant. So, at 3-ish in the morning, I hopped in my car and drove the 10 miles up the interstate to Happy Jack Road, meandered a few miles down that road, and pulled over.

I remember that Third Day's "Show Me Your Glory" was playing on K-LOVE as multiple streaks of fire flashed across the sky ... and I know that the song didn't last the full hour or so that I was up there watching it, but it's the only song that I remember from that night ... and I truly felt that God was, indeed, showing me His glory. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

So I was pretty excited yesterday when I came into the office to check my e-mail and the news, only to find out that a meteor shower was going on that very night. It said 2 a.m. was going to be the peak of activity. Since I'd slept a good portion of the afternoon (you really don't feel like doing much else when your stomach's not feeling too steady), I figured it was the perfect night to head up to watch God's glory streaking across the sky again (this was the Perseid meteor shower, for the recrod. I have no idea what that means).

All evening, I had a Gilmore-a-thon. In the evening, it was "Sense and Sensibility," laundry and dishes. Praying with a friend through a hard time. And then ... it was after 1. Time to head up the mountain ...

It was a perfect night. After clouds had skittered across the sky all afternoon, the skies were crystal-clear, and up on the mountain, the Milky Way was breath-takingly clear to see. In the distance, Laramie's lights glittered, and an occasional vehicle passed. It was cool, but not cold, and my crazy fear of hungry, crawling creatures (read: bears, mountain lions, coyotes and the like) and of snakes seaking the warmth of the pavement kept me inside my car, but I rolled the window down and rested my head on my arms as I carefully watched the night sky for the natural fireworks display. There was a breeze, but not a wind. And though there were clouds, they stayed on the periphery of the sky, politely keeping to the horizon so I could have a front-row seat to this rare show.

It wasn't as rapid-fire or spectacular as the Leonid shower, but any time I get to see a shooting star of any kind is, I think, a treat ... and I got at least a couple dozen treats last night. Some were so miniscule that they were difficult to see; some were seen merely in my peripheral vision, gone before I could shift my gaze to see them in time. Some left brilliant white streaks in the sky that lasted for several seconds after the meteor itself had burned out. Some were simply balls of fire that blasted across the sky, leaving no trail. Third Day was not on the radio, but, for the most part, I left the radio off this time, opting for a nature soundtrack instead. The breeze whispered through the rough prairie grasses, around rocks. I never heard foot/paw steps around my car, but I think I did finally hear my first coyote call. It was either a coyote or some unknown, inner part of my car groaning in agony. It was difficult to tell. I prefer to think it was a coyote. Having lived in Wyoming for the greater part of 30 years, I ought to be able to say that I've heard them at least once, don't you think?

After a half hour, my neck was stiff and in rebellion, and I was getting a little creeped out by the coyote calls. It was after 2, and though I'd seen more meteors than I would have on a regular night, I couldn't really tell that there had been a "peak;" rather, the frequency had dropped off a bit ... and then I realized: I live in Wyoming. And the "2 a.m." forecast likely had referred to Eastern Time, which would have meant that over Curt Gowdy State Park, the show would have peaked at midnight .... and I had missed it. Sad.

But I saw the meteors; I saw the glory. It was a good night, in all. Jane Austen. Encouragement and prayer with a friend. Fire across the sky. My faith has felt dry and lacking and almost non-existent the better part of this past year; probably longer -- and that's my own fault, mostly -- but last night was reassuring. That breeze across the prairie was like the gentle whisper that I had prayed for my friend. The Voice that Elijah didn't hear in the earthquake, didn't hear in the mighty rushing wind, didn't hear in the fire ... it was in the gentle whisper that followed all those noisy, rumbly things. That was the voice that ruffled the grass and sagebrush last night, that accompanied a coyote's lonely call, that brushed my face with coolness and reassurance as I watched for lights to traverse the sky.

The Hummingbird

As I walked to my car on my dinner break Friday night, a little hummingbird came buzzing right by me and then in front of me, and then it must have seen its reflection in the glass doors ahead of me, and it must have wanted to meet the "other hummingbird" that it saw.

Because it flew right in the glass. And then again. And then again.

And just as I thought that the poor hummingbird was suicidal and was going to kill itself this way, it finally must have decided that the other hummingbird was rude and unsociable (not to mention unreachable), because it finally flew away ... but man -- what a beating to take for the sake of meeting a potential new friend.