Star-Gazing

News reports promised spectucular meteor shows -- up to 100 per hour. And so, when Dewey awoke me at 3 in the morning, I drug myself out of bed, grabbed a blanket and called Tag. Together, the Border collie and I walked to the hayfield. I put down the blanket and stretched out so I could take in the sky. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the stars multiplied. I listened to the sounds around me -- the crickets, the insects, the fans from the factory farms, the occasional semi-tractor picking up speed as it neared the state route. A meteor fell across the sky, leaving a white trail. And I waited some more. They weren't streaking at the rate of one per minute, and I wondered if they would pick up speed, if clouds were blocking some views. That's the thing about meteor showers. There is no camera or person saying, "Look here." A meteor could come from anywhere in the sky. There's no music to build climax, to tell of the falling star. They happen when they happen. And, if you're a person in a hayfield, staring at the night sky in mid-August, listening to the crickets chirps, you just may catch a little of the magic.