One August and another.
Early August, and the Perseid meteor shower swings
past the planet again.
Nick and I crept out to one of the Downs, to a wheat
field, nearly due the cutting, well over the brow of the hill from the city
glare.
Gradually our eyes began to get used to the night
sky, and then flickers at the edge of vision, fugitive glitters which seemed
sure to be – nothing, just eyes playing tricks – intensified, brightened, and
resolved themselves into long striations of light passing over us, here, then
there.
Finally a speck of light appeared, grew brighter,
bigger, closer, hurtling towards us, and instantly winked out. We both jumped,
blinked, shook our heads.
I swear we could feel the star grit in our eyes.
Later, as we got up to go, collecting the rugs, Nick
looked at the imprint we’d left in the field, which I’ve no doubt has been
extra fertile ever since.
“Ahah! A crop oblong!”
‘Shooting stars,’ became a code between us – a secret
password.
Now the Perseids are passing by us once again, on their ineffable
journey, as I head south to see him off
on his.
Shooting stars.
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