One of the things I will always remember: Friday night, 29th January. It's bitterly cold and the air is biting at our fingertips. The sky is clear and the moon full, casting a yellow-white glow across us. According to the internet, this is the night we could see Mars. Now, my lovely daughter is a space-freak with a telescope so despite the cold, we trained the lens slightly to the left and down a bit of the moon where, with the naked eye a very bright star shone slightly reddish. After a bit of adjustment, quite a lot of shivering and debate, there it shockingly and suddenly was: a disc, red-grey and grainy, but there it was. We were both quite literally awestruck and marveled at our own reaction as well as the sight itself. Forgetting about the chilly air, the runny noses and the bloodless fingers, a cliched moment occurred in which life came into focus as clearly as Mars did. How lucky, how precarious, how significant we are.
Even later, in the warmth of inside, we didn't shake the feeling off. Even now, days later, we still haven't. Good.
Even later, in the warmth of inside, we didn't shake the feeling off. Even now, days later, we still haven't. Good.