Un éclat de lune avec trois planètes
(Thanks, cutiepi314, for the French for sliver moon.)
I knew there would be a sliver moon yesterday evening, and for once the skies were bright and clear the entire day. All afternoon I was looking forward to Kathy's call, beckoning me to come out and scope out the sunset while I waited for her to pick me up. I began to get antsy as the tiny rectangle of the heavens visible from my office turned from blue to slate-grey, and then quickly darkened toward midnight blue. Finally, around half-past five, when the harsh orange glare from the street lights had washed out all natural light, I lost all patience and rang Kathy to ask when she was getting done with work, already. As it happened, she was preparing to leave, so I followed suit, and skedaddled. It looked as dark from the street as it did from my office, and the brightest stars twinkled as they would on the chilliest winter night; yet even in the brisk wind the air felt merely cool.
The celestial view of the Ecliptic, once it emerged from behind the hospital, was even more magnificent than I could possibly have expected from a crystal-clear, twilit night. There, in the teal-blue band of sunset, hung a perfect, two-day sliver moon. As I strode onto the bridge, the sickle of a Moon began to ripple wildly-and then stopped, just as suddenly. I took a step back, and again the Moon jittered and shook, emitting thin tendrils of light, almost like smoke. Soon I realized that the rippling occurred whenever the Moon was directly above one of one of the twin silhouetted smokestacks of the physical plant. Just add one column of transparent steam to your thin crescent for a quivery, slivery Moon.
In spite of this spectacle, my eyes kept straying up toward Venus, a brilliant pearl that appeared almost as bright as the entire Moon.* My eyes soon adjusted to the dark (or did the sunlight wane?) and Jupiter emerged from the greenish sky between the smokestacks. A minute later, yet another pinpoint, dimmer and lower yet, was visible: Mercury. Incredibobble! I've never seen Mercury so far from the spring equinox, and certainly not in the dead of a Midwest winter, when Moon, stars and other sights of the heavens become a dim but fond memory.
Look to the southwest tomorrow evening, 31 December, for a four-day crescent Moon closely paired with Venus: not as good as a true sliver moon, but still an impressive sight. If you happen to have a nice, clear night, the two will haunt your peripheral vision, daring you to take a glance.
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*In fact, Venus was only about one-seventh as luminous, overall, but it packed that smaller brightness into a mere pinpoint of dazzling light.
I knew there would be a sliver moon yesterday evening, and for once the skies were bright and clear the entire day. All afternoon I was looking forward to Kathy's call, beckoning me to come out and scope out the sunset while I waited for her to pick me up. I began to get antsy as the tiny rectangle of the heavens visible from my office turned from blue to slate-grey, and then quickly darkened toward midnight blue. Finally, around half-past five, when the harsh orange glare from the street lights had washed out all natural light, I lost all patience and rang Kathy to ask when she was getting done with work, already. As it happened, she was preparing to leave, so I followed suit, and skedaddled. It looked as dark from the street as it did from my office, and the brightest stars twinkled as they would on the chilliest winter night; yet even in the brisk wind the air felt merely cool.
The celestial view of the Ecliptic, once it emerged from behind the hospital, was even more magnificent than I could possibly have expected from a crystal-clear, twilit night. There, in the teal-blue band of sunset, hung a perfect, two-day sliver moon. As I strode onto the bridge, the sickle of a Moon began to ripple wildly-and then stopped, just as suddenly. I took a step back, and again the Moon jittered and shook, emitting thin tendrils of light, almost like smoke. Soon I realized that the rippling occurred whenever the Moon was directly above one of one of the twin silhouetted smokestacks of the physical plant. Just add one column of transparent steam to your thin crescent for a quivery, slivery Moon.
In spite of this spectacle, my eyes kept straying up toward Venus, a brilliant pearl that appeared almost as bright as the entire Moon.* My eyes soon adjusted to the dark (or did the sunlight wane?) and Jupiter emerged from the greenish sky between the smokestacks. A minute later, yet another pinpoint, dimmer and lower yet, was visible: Mercury. Incredibobble! I've never seen Mercury so far from the spring equinox, and certainly not in the dead of a Midwest winter, when Moon, stars and other sights of the heavens become a dim but fond memory.
Look to the southwest tomorrow evening, 31 December, for a four-day crescent Moon closely paired with Venus: not as good as a true sliver moon, but still an impressive sight. If you happen to have a nice, clear night, the two will haunt your peripheral vision, daring you to take a glance.
_____________________
*In fact, Venus was only about one-seventh as luminous, overall, but it packed that smaller brightness into a mere pinpoint of dazzling light.