Sunday, 15 August 2010
I've spent this week recovering from that vague, creeping solipsism that many of a certain age and seniority will experience from time to time - when work becomes sufficiently divorced from the meat and grind of production and one wonders if any of this is real or for what purpose those performance figures really serve, only a good holiday, or retirement will do.
So this week during the day, I have climbed hills, rolled in grass, watched ants, played chess, draughts and scrabble, made Lego and pretend families with baby dolls. In the evening we've made dinner amongst other things, got drunk, smoked, read and slept.
Monday was particularly memorable. Meg and I were watching crows circle the cottage during that short period after the sun has slipped under the horizon but still roasts it a deep orange. We hadn't spoken in a while, enjoying the sound of the birds, when the brightest meteor I have ever seen, shot over our heads from the north. It seemed so close (or large enough), that we could see the thing tumble and spin as it burned up in spectacular whites, blues and reds. For such a magnificent spectacle, oddly it made no sound. Meg was rapturous. She gasped, held her hands to her mouth before running inside screaming "MUMMY, MUMMY, we saw a shooting star!".
How privileged I felt for being able to share that moment with my daughter.
After she and Dom were put to bed, Miche & I lay down on the grass to watch the Milky Way emerge from behind the near stars and waited for the next Pleiades meteor. None came. The peak, apparently, would be Thursday when predictably, the sky would be full of rain cloud. Miche bored of her wait after a long while and left me with my camera to see what I could catch.
This photo above is the fruits of my labour. One of many 30 second exposures that night, but the only one that caught a meteor (in the bottom right corner).