From the back porch of the Tucker House on a clear night in June, July, or August, the kind of night when you strip down to your shirtsleeves in spite of the mosquitos just to feel what little breeze there is wisping up off the Rapidan, the view of the sky is unbelievable. Not unbelievable in a sophomoric, hyperbolic sort of way, although, this being the back porch of an all-boys dormitory at a mid-Virginian all-boys academy, I give due credit to this interpretation of the phrase. One simply cannot believe in it. It is as if upon pushing open the screen door the fantastic strokes of Munch replace reality.
The way the stars settle in over the Blue Ridge Mountains, which stay blue even when the sun is far off somewhere on the other side of Gaia, brings on both terror and delight. Great clusters declare themselves boldly over the peaks, some your standard white but others red and green and gold. Through the hazy summer atmosphere the moon itself obscures itself like a mercurial apparition. None can know for sure what it portends. But there is meaning there. What's more - the silhouettes of trees at the horizon stare back at you, immuring you as both a comfort and a threat. And amid the shouts of boys playing one last game of ball on the big lawn by the Residence, the drones of so many cricket violinists fill the deepening pit. For a city boy like me, who only ever sees stars in the movies, the whole experience is unreal.
(describe a night sky)
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