Reflections on the Tenth Week of Summer – Night Romp

North Face of Star Chart and Mini Red Flashlight

Footsteps pacing on the floor overhead alerted me that something was amiss Friday morning. Reaching for the tablet computer I kept under my pillow for playing stories that lulled me to sleep, I checked the time. 4:30 a.m. I crawled over Emma, who merrowed in protest, and headed for the bathroom.

The metal spiral stairs clanked, and my barefooted husband came into view.

“Do you have a leg cramp, Spence?”

“No.” He pointed to the ceiling above the cedar chest in the loft. “There’s a noise coming from up there. Don’t you hear it?”

Cocking my head, I heard metallic thumps and what sounded like rolling marbles. I nodded.

He slipped into his boots. “An animal’s on the roof. I’m going to investigate.”

“Wait! I’m coming with you.” Forgetting the bathroom, I dashed to the closet, pulled on a fuzzy red bathrobe, and slipped into Sloggers. I grabbed a flashlight from my purse and joined Spence on the porch.

He held a foot long flashlight.

Armed, we moved to the deck and pointed out lights at the solar panels on the roof. My light caught a hump. “I see a brown hump up there!”

Spence looked left then right. “Where?”

“We’ll get a better view from the road.” I led the way across the porch, down the gravel driveway, and along the road.

We pointed the flashlights and looked up.

“Okay. Not better.” I walked through the dewy grass in the side yard.

Spence followed.

Again, we pointed the flashlights and looked up. No raccoon or possum in sight.

“You saw the bottom of the chimney,” Spence said.

Had that been the hump? It was in the same place.

Since little animals can make big noises, I shifted the flashlight beam to under the solar panels. Perhaps a mouse had visited.

Spheres of glowing light reflected off the metal support racks. No critter hid under the panels.

I shrugged. “Maybe we scared it, and it ran away?”

Spence squinted and scanned his light across the roof. “Whatever made the noise isn’t there now.”

Turning off my flashlight, I gazed from the roof to the array of stars in the country sky. “Ooh!” Forgetting our failure at night critter observation, I stuffed the flashlight into my robe pocket, hustled up the ramp to the deck, and called over my shoulder. “This is the perfect time to try my new star chart.”

Spence moseyed to the deck.

I dashed inside, grabbed the star chart off the dresser, and adjusted the dial to 4:30 a.m. August 24. Back to the deck, I stood beside Spence and glanced toward the chart.

“I just saw a meteor.” Spence pointed over the south garden.

“A meteor?” I looked up. “It’s the last night the Perseid Meteor Showers are visible this year.”

“Yeah. It had a fuzzy round head―” Spence held his hands together as if holding a tennis ball. “―and a little tail. It arced over the south garden.”

Sheesh. I’d missed it.

“There’s haze on the horizon.” Spence folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s look on the other side of the house.”

Orion’s belt shone over the tree tops, but I didn’t recognize anything else. I followed Spence across the porch, down the steps, and onto the gravel driveway.

Overhead the Milky Way flowed like a shimmering diamond banner. Cassiopeia took center sky. What constellations surrounded her? I glanced down at the chart. I could feel it in my hands but couldn’t see it. “How am I supposed to read the chart in the dark?”

“Try the red flashlight that came with the chart,” Spence said.

After making another round trip to the bedroom for the mini red flashlight, I pointed it at the chart. “I still can’t see.”

“Your eyes need to accustom to the dark again after being inside.”

I didn’t want to wait. I’d run out of patience with mysteries avoiding resolutions. I pulled the flashlight from my pocket and lit up the chart. Lacerta, Cepheus, and Camelopardalis were closest to Cassiopeia. I’d never heard of them, but I glanced up to find the unfamiliar constellations. Because of the bright flashlight, half of the stars had disappeared from my sight.

After missing the animal, missing the meteor, and missing the unfamiliar constellations, I wanted to find something outside in the dark. Maybe Perseus. The Perseid meteors radiated from Perseus. I studied the star chart and located the constellation catty-corner to Cassiopeia. Turning off the flashlight, I squeezed my eyes shut for a slow count to ten then gazed up. No meteors flashed across the sky, but I spotted the outstretched stars forming Perseus. Enough success for a night romp. I put my arm around Spence’s waist.

We trudged up the steps and opened the porch door.

George and Emma sat on their haunches facing the doorway. Their cat eyes glared as if to say We’re gonna tell your children.

I stepped around them, made a brief stop in the bathroom, then yawned my way back to bed. Snuggling under the covers, I listened to Rilla of Ingleside and drifted off.

We slept an hour past Spence’s morning coffee time―a perk for two retirees after a night romp.

South Face of Star Chart and Mini Red Flashlight