Night

I said earlier this evening that today had been nearly the perfect day. Well tonight is nearly the perfect night. I say 'nearly' because nothing can be quite perfect. I learned this in 1961 when I worked in the Establishment Office of Liverpool Corporation's Town Clerk's Department. The Boss was Harold Dottie the grandly named Establishment and Organisation Officer and one of the most powerful men in the running of the Corporation. His secretary was Ivy Moreton, Spinster and, as his Secretary, one of the most powerful women in the Corporation. I was unwittingly in the right place to hear an exchange between them one day when Miss Moreton called Mr Dottie "A perfect sod" (pretty strong language for 1961 I would have thought) to which his response was simply "Ivy, nobody's perfect". But I, as usual, digress. Tonight is nearly the perfect night.

As I walked down from the house to the Cottage the moon lit the world almost as if it were day although it does make one realise the difference in colour temperature between the sun and the moon.

Here are two photos. The first is from the deck and the second is from my bed.

It's really as good as it gets.

The Perfect Night

I'm standing on the deck looking at a clear sky littered with a million stars and a brilliant moon in its first quarter. The breeze is warm and inviting. So warm that even at 2330 (or 11.30pm in old money) all the patio doors onto the deck in the living room and my bedroom are wide open and a breeze is running through the Cottage. Ordinarily I couldn't do that because the Cottage would fill with moths but tonight I have no lights on. The Cottage is lit by the moon and the stars and the moths have sought other places.

I am looking out into the geological kettle on the side of which the Cottage nestles. There is no light pollution. Indeed I can see no lights whatsoever. Yet the apple trees in the orchard across the paddock in front of the Cottage are clearly visible.

All this makes the night one of the most beautiful I have experienced here since last year when I stood on the beach with the waves lit by the glow of the moon on a similar evening.

And it is so quiet. During the day the birdsong is so loud that it could almost be intrusive but tonight there is just the sound of the Cicadas. There is a rustling of the leaves in the huge trees nearby. I am afraid of being near trees in the dark. I always have been. There is nothing rational about such fears. Wendy always offers to walk me the 50 metres 'home' down the tree-lined drive! Tonight I've been wandering round near the Cottage and the huge trees which stand not so far away. It's not pitch dark, of course, because of the moonlight but even so I would normally be terrified to stray away from the Cottage. What is it about tonight that allows that fear to flee?

Often I see shooting stars here just as I do on Lewis but I have just seen a phenomenon which I have never seen before: a flash in the sky rather like a star exploding. Presumably it wasn't that but what it was I do not know. Any ideas anyone?