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epitome of incomprehensibility
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It wasn't the best thing about sitting in that chair next to the lake around 11 PM on Wednesday, but it was one thing.
The TV said a meteor shower and I didn't even know which direction to look in, or if any were even visible from where I was. The stars wavered slightly in their light - "twinkle" I remembered, thus the kids' song - and the water rippled a reflection of (I think) Venus, which won't twinkle in the sky. I thought I saw a star move, but it was the wind moving a tree.
And I remembered, recalling basic childhood knowledge, that meteors wouldn't be already-there points of light. They would flame into view, move, and then disappear. Quickly.
And that's what one did, as bright as the brighter stars. Covered the perspectival equivalent of half my finger on a stretched-out arm.
I waited but didn't see more.
Belatedly, I wished I were less anxious about things in general.
I can make up my own superstitions, but it's nice to slip into a comfortable old one. Used clothes, worn but not faded.
But the number of stars I could see struck me more. And after the meteor, I thought about how I could see the reflection of only the brightest stars in the water: three if you count Venus. I leaned over the dock to see the black middle of the sky reflected (carefully, not to fall in and make the whole thing a startle, a farce) and caught sight of another in my side vision. It faded when I looked directly at it.
Facts explain this without taking away the wonder. Same with the stars. We can draw connecting rather than separating lines between the subjective and objective, perception and reality.
While not falling into the lake, at least not every time.
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