last of the fall colors

The furnace was fine, not in fact burning the house down. I knew firsthand, because I had spent the last 45 minutes, flashlight gripped in my right hand, slithering on my belly in and out of tight spots, inspecting the ductwork under the house. I had also checked the new HVAC unit outside, laid my hands on various components, stuck my head in close and smelled. All seemed fine.

That I had done all of this in the middle of the night we can only chalk up to love. As in, “Honey, there is a noise downstairs.” Or, as in this case, upon being nudged awake at 2 a.m. with, “Do you smell that? It smells like something is burning.” Whereupon, message delivered, the beloved turns over and falls immediately back into sweet dreams.

Eyes now open, with ill humor and sleep a memory fogged by urgent thoughts of what to grab first, I get out of bed, dress, and begin to inspect, one by one, all the possible flashpoints. No, I do not and never did smell something burning. But I persevere. As they say, in for a penny….

Which is why at just after 3 a.m. I emerged from the crawlspace under the house, straightened up, and happened to glimpse the sky.

Cold night skies have a clarity that, even with the distant lights of towns on the horizon, move me to pause in reverence. I stand there and gaze at the vastness of the Milky Way splashed in a long arc above. Hidden in the shadow of Earth, the moon is blood red, only the smallest sliver of pearl white lighting an edge. The goodnight moon of bedtime is now fully into a lunar eclipse.

I’m not sure how long I stood, dressed in dirty coveralls, pads strapped to my knees, flashlight in hand, just staring. Every few minutes, I would look around, hoping for someone or something with whom to share the awe. “Do you see this? Is this not spectacular?” But I was alone. That infinite sky, the ancient moon, teaching the same old lessons in humility I’ve learned, and forgotten, so many times. That even with the mistakes I make with my life, in this merest blink of existence, the universe is eternal and offers countless opportunities to get it right, somewhere. That perhaps we are just incidental to the plan.

It was 4 in the morning before I came back in the house. I put on a pot of coffee, sleep no longer on the agenda, grabbed my camera, and went back out to take a few shots. Not sure why I felt the need to document what was a spiritual, literally otherworldly, moment, but it is what we do in this modern life. As I stood outside on the porch, two shooting stars burned a brief trail into the atmosphere and were gone.

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Rereading this weekend: The Generous Earth (P. Oyler)

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