Let’s face it, August sucks. Dust-filled smoky skies, dying lawns and Hobo spiders. And it’s hot, hot, hot. I worship the sun in May, but by 08/01 I’m ready for frost and falling leaves. August is the only month without a holiday (okay, technically April sometimes doesn’t have a holiday either, but only on those years when the first Sunday following the second full moon following Ash Wednesday happens to fall in March).
The only saving grace of the eighth month, besides my wedding anniversary, is the Perseid meteor shower.
Every August 12th, the Earth passes through a band of ancient exhaust from the comet Swift-Tuttle, providing a spectacular show for anyone willing to venture out in the early morning hours.
The Perseid meteor shower is an annual event, a time for enjoyment, reflection and taking measure of our minute stature in the cosmos. Why shouldn’t it be August’s holiday?
This year’s edition was excellent. Under less than ideal conditions, we were still able to spot meteors at a rate of 30 + an hour. The air was cool and clear and full of night sounds. There was even a brief cameo by the International Space Station.
It was almost enough to make me look forward to next August. Almost.