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Saturday, September 09, 2006 More Jersey nature writing  You had to be there. Against a deep blue canvas, with soft pink-purple overtones sit two dim stars. New Jersey is an awful tourist spot for those who like to find their heavens by simply looking up. I believe heaven rests to the east; our sky is actually the bottom of the river Styx. Those two stars are torches marking the western shore. Or they are the last two anglerfish in the underworld, damned for all eternity to float aimlessly, hungry and lonely. With such a dearth of heavenly splendor hanging above our homes we are at least comforted by the occasionally pink moon and our technicolor sunsets. Indeed, when our rotation brings the sun and moon, those heavenly bodies, within our horizon, they graciously customize their hue and shade to make up for an underwhelming night sky. Like autumn revealing Jersey's beauty, the transition from afternoon to night is our most beautiful time of day. It couldn't provide us with a happier image if Bob Ross had painted it himself. Where there's purple, there's blue. When there's blue, there's gold. If gold, then red. After red, comes pink. Next to pink is the darkest, most cavernous slate nature can muster. An astounding sight produced by pollution and haze, without help from a single twinkling celestial notable. We don't need stars in New Jersey, those glam rockers of the galaxy, those patsies of points beyond, dandies of the Milky Way. Our sky appreciates the value of considered composition. We take our time, and between day and night we get nature's charisma in a small dose before going back about our business. Who has time to spend standing still, neck craned skyward at the great up there anyway? posted by ezruh sellof at 1:53 AM 1 comments |
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