Today is rainy. But tonight the storms and clouds are supposed to break up between midnight and two which means that we have a full moon shining through the last skittering clouds and a cool evening and clear air. And that means it will be gorgeous out on the lake west of town. For the last several summers a friend who has a pontoon boat has taken us out on the lake in the wee hours to watch the Perseid meteor shower which hits its peak this evening, between 2 and 3 am. We bring towels and chairs and sit or lie down on one of the floating docks and we bring food and beverages (at 2 you generally are more interested in tea or coffee than alcohol, but there is usually a bit of that too), and food. I am making a fig clafoutis, which will go in the oven about midnight, so it will be ready when my ride comes by to get me about 1:15.
The Perseids are one of the most spectacular meteor showers every year, and because they are in the warm part of the year, one of the most pleasant to view. Yes, it won't be great this year with the full moon, but in addition to going out to the lake to see the shooting stars, it is a chance to see people we have been parted from over the summer, and to readjust to the social community that is one of the highlights of our small town. We have talked a bit about work, but generally the conversation (punctuated of course by "oh, that was a good one!" and "Did you see that one?!") is about what one did for the summer, where one is going for Christmas, plans for the coming year, updates on children and parents.
I encourage you to make a ritual for yourself out of this event. It falls perfectly at the transition from summer to fall. The weather has finally, suddenly, turned cooler here. Last night it was in the 60s, but the night before the low was 55 degrees, far below the lows in the upper 70s or even low 80s we had for much of July. I am sitting here at 10:30 am with the windows open, thankful for the heat of the cup of coffee, and reveling in the fact that my feet are actually cold. The days are getting shorter, the light is changing (as the sun moves noticeably to the south each evening at its setting), and the summer squash is joined in the farmers' market by butternut and acorn varieties.
Students are starting to come into town as well. There is more traffic almost every day and the long leisurely walks that are such a highlight of the summers are becoming a slight bit more harried as people are driving with cell phones glued to their ears, not knowing where they are going, and missing one way streets and blinking stoplights. Next week my college is featuring its annual run up to the fall semester -- planning meetings, workshops on pedagogy, and a "welcome back, ready-or-not" luncheon. I have a meeting with a student on Monday, and Tuesday I figure I will be in at work, starting to acquaint myself with a new edition for our textbook. I have been out of town all summer, caring for parents who are suddenly more fragile than any of us would like, and I have to evaluate my research accomplishments and organize that aspect of my life as well.
But this night I will join my friends in an end-of-summer ritual, out at the lake in the dark of the night (in spite of the full moon), breathing in the damp air, listening to the night birds, and watching the skies for that one fireball that will show up brilliantly in the sky, dimming even the light reflecting off the clouds from the moon, and hearing the quiet voices around me murmuring about plans and results, and gardens and car repairs, and be very very very glad to be back in what has become my home, a small town in Missouri, at this lovely time of year.