space . . .
NASA is retiring the space shuttle program.
Where have I been that I haven't heard this? Initially, I was a little shocked that it hasn't been displayed more prominently on the news. Then again, with everything going on in the world today, I suppose I should not be surprised that we've turned our gazes earthward and not all realized it yet. This isn't a judgement call; the world has a lot on its plate. And NASA was quick to assure the public that this isn't the end of the space program as a whole, just the low orbit shuttle portion. Still, I'm a little sad.
For all the big, overarching reasons, of course- the lack of funding for our space program in this time of economic hardship, the way that tough times tend to suck public interest out of amazing dreams such as mankind in outer space, the concern that we might be headed for a major setback in one of the most exciting fields of scientific exploration. But there's also a little, nostalgic melancholy curled up inside me; I grew up in a decade where the imagination of three generations embraced the vast expanses of space. Like the dark reaches of an unknown forest or the mysteries of a lost continent- only a thousand times bigger- outer space appeals to the adventurer, the explorer within us.
So I take some time to have a cup of tea with that nostalgia and sketch out a scene that might become a story.
On nights when both moons are full, the sky is almost as bright as day. Their waxing coincides only once during each of their cycles, but it is considered to be one of the most auspicious times of the month. Months . . . do they call them months, here on this sparkling world of islands and water and a handful of golden deserts? How is their time organized? How long is each sultry day? I want to ask her, but she is not ready for that yet. She will not be ready for many years. So I will just sit with her a while, here on the coast of one of the planet's mineral rich seas.
It's an extraordinary ocean, so clear that one can see almost twelve feet down with adequate conditions. I will have to find some other way to describe it, eventually. One can only use "sparkling" or "shimmering" or "glittering" so often; but it really does, the minerals that make the water so clean also responsible for refracting the slightest light into scintillating drops of diamond . . . I'm verging into cliche. Still, that is the world I imagine, a well cared for world, a people who could tell us much about stewardship.
And what does she look like, this girl or woman from another world? Like so many writers who have come before me, I am guilty of envisioning relatable, human-like aliens. But her face is narrower, her cheekbones sharper, her eyes a little too large. I am also guilty of envisioning her beautiful. I imagine she swims in that miraculous ocean a lot, for the minerals have seeped into her hair. It is almost transparent, with a warm, multi-hued tint that shimmers and shifts from pale gold to almost pink in some highlights. It's like a sunrise. I wonder if she is one of those tired female characters who doesn't know that she is beautiful? I don't think so, nor do I think that she is the only person of such beauty among her people. Maybe to them, she is merely ordinary.
Why is she here, sun gilded legs stretched out before her on a smooth outcropping of rosy coral stone still humming with the afternoon's heat? Did she come to watch the second moon, larger and closer than the first, seem to emerge from the primal womb of the sea? To search for the odd brilliant star in the distant, darker recesses of the skies? Maybe to witness the faint gas rings around the farther away first risen moon, visible only in the second one's full light. What is she thinking as her eyes trace the progress of some sleek interstellar vessel crossing the face of both moons on its way to . . . where?
Where have I been that I haven't heard this? Initially, I was a little shocked that it hasn't been displayed more prominently on the news. Then again, with everything going on in the world today, I suppose I should not be surprised that we've turned our gazes earthward and not all realized it yet. This isn't a judgement call; the world has a lot on its plate. And NASA was quick to assure the public that this isn't the end of the space program as a whole, just the low orbit shuttle portion. Still, I'm a little sad.
For all the big, overarching reasons, of course- the lack of funding for our space program in this time of economic hardship, the way that tough times tend to suck public interest out of amazing dreams such as mankind in outer space, the concern that we might be headed for a major setback in one of the most exciting fields of scientific exploration. But there's also a little, nostalgic melancholy curled up inside me; I grew up in a decade where the imagination of three generations embraced the vast expanses of space. Like the dark reaches of an unknown forest or the mysteries of a lost continent- only a thousand times bigger- outer space appeals to the adventurer, the explorer within us.
So I take some time to have a cup of tea with that nostalgia and sketch out a scene that might become a story.
On nights when both moons are full, the sky is almost as bright as day. Their waxing coincides only once during each of their cycles, but it is considered to be one of the most auspicious times of the month. Months . . . do they call them months, here on this sparkling world of islands and water and a handful of golden deserts? How is their time organized? How long is each sultry day? I want to ask her, but she is not ready for that yet. She will not be ready for many years. So I will just sit with her a while, here on the coast of one of the planet's mineral rich seas.
It's an extraordinary ocean, so clear that one can see almost twelve feet down with adequate conditions. I will have to find some other way to describe it, eventually. One can only use "sparkling" or "shimmering" or "glittering" so often; but it really does, the minerals that make the water so clean also responsible for refracting the slightest light into scintillating drops of diamond . . . I'm verging into cliche. Still, that is the world I imagine, a well cared for world, a people who could tell us much about stewardship.
And what does she look like, this girl or woman from another world? Like so many writers who have come before me, I am guilty of envisioning relatable, human-like aliens. But her face is narrower, her cheekbones sharper, her eyes a little too large. I am also guilty of envisioning her beautiful. I imagine she swims in that miraculous ocean a lot, for the minerals have seeped into her hair. It is almost transparent, with a warm, multi-hued tint that shimmers and shifts from pale gold to almost pink in some highlights. It's like a sunrise. I wonder if she is one of those tired female characters who doesn't know that she is beautiful? I don't think so, nor do I think that she is the only person of such beauty among her people. Maybe to them, she is merely ordinary.
Why is she here, sun gilded legs stretched out before her on a smooth outcropping of rosy coral stone still humming with the afternoon's heat? Did she come to watch the second moon, larger and closer than the first, seem to emerge from the primal womb of the sea? To search for the odd brilliant star in the distant, darker recesses of the skies? Maybe to witness the faint gas rings around the farther away first risen moon, visible only in the second one's full light. What is she thinking as her eyes trace the progress of some sleek interstellar vessel crossing the face of both moons on its way to . . . where?