Songs of the Night Sky

The heavens declare the glory of God

I write this at 10:45 p.m. awaiting a solar storm and possibilities of watching the Aurora Borealis from my deck in the next few hours. There’s already color on the aurora cam in Banff, Canada. Excitement is building on the WA Aurora Facebook page. All this comes at the close of a Sunday which began with the gift of offering the message for my worshipping community, St. David of Wales in Shelton.

During the month of September we in the Episcopal church are observing a season of Creation Care, and today’s Psalm (91), which begins with the words, “The heavens declare the glory of God,” were shimmering for me, and formed the threads of my message.

Night photography brings me such joy and awe, and I shared some of my learning, as well as a number of poems that my hours under the stars have inspired. Our worship services are recorded on YouTube, so I wanted to offer you this opportunity to enjoy a poetry reading and learn about night sky photography, and a bit more about me as well.

My message starts at minute 48 and is 23 minutes — long, I know, but feel free to listen while you’re cooking, or eating breakfast, or folding laundry. That’s how I usually watch online poetry readings that I’m not part of! Click the button below to watch/listen.

I’ll leave you with a few images of the Aurora taken around 2:30 a.m. Wednesday, a strong storm with red filling the skies overhead and in all directions, along with one of the poems I read this morning.

Invitation

I want to write us a poem woven
from ribbons of celestial light
each undulating auroral strand
gently slipped from night’s spectral sky
arranged into a rainbow, a promise
inked across the blank waiting page.

I want the poem to bloom before us
as if the whole domed ark umbrella-ing
above us might be brought low and upended
each ephemeral thread twined together
to become a beaming basket among bulrushes.

I want the poem to set sail
with all of us aboard
a lifeboat ferrying us far
from the death-grip
of human certainty
to deliver us, finally, water-logged
and wide-eyed at the archipelago of awe
where the eternal divine dances,
arms illuminated, outstretched.
For what is a poem if not an invitation?