pameladean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pameladean) wrote2015-03-07 06:40 pm
pameladean) wrote2015-03-07 06:40 pm
Entry tags:
Sunset and evening star
My office, in an upstairs sunroom, has two windows facing south, two north, and three west. The upstairs living room, which we have crammed with books to the point that there is room for only one chair, and even that has to be moved aside if we want to get at the hardcover short-story collections, has a big window over the front porch that also faces west.
After a dark and extensively cloudy beginning to winter, we've been having cold, clear evenings, or mostly clear evenings with thin wandering clouds. I am finally in the habit of looking out at sunset. There have been spectacular ones that turned all the clouds pink; blazing striped ones with a band of red, a band of hot pink, a band of orange, then green, then palest blue, green, medium blue, dark dark blue with pink clouds in it; unassuming ones with a band of orange fading to yellow fading to dark gray clouds.
Venus is the evening star. I can see it from the most southerly of the west-facing office windows, just between the neighbors' evergreen and the Norway maple on the boulevard. Tonight, in a subdued sunset of orange and yellow and pink, I couldn't find it. I went to the big library window. No Venus. There was a band of gray clouds above the pink of the horizon, but Venus should have been much higher than that. I got out my phone to check Google Sky Map. Eric texted me just then to say that he was on his way over. I answered him, and then looked at the sky again, raising the phone so that it would show me all the invisible stars and planets, and where the horizon was. Venus shone out, a pinprick to what it would be in full dark, but very much there. "Oh, there you are!" I said. I looked down at the phone to see how close Mars was to Venus, and when I looked back, Venus was gone again. Searching once more, I realized that the faintest of long stretchy clouds reached out from the horizon like ghost rays of the vanished sun. They were moving in the wind, and they hid and revealed Venus as they went, looking almost like an aurora.
The trees looked less stark than they had a few weeks ago. Buds might be starting.
Pamela
Edited to remove extraneous "window" from the text, as there are quite enough windows in the house already.
After a dark and extensively cloudy beginning to winter, we've been having cold, clear evenings, or mostly clear evenings with thin wandering clouds. I am finally in the habit of looking out at sunset. There have been spectacular ones that turned all the clouds pink; blazing striped ones with a band of red, a band of hot pink, a band of orange, then green, then palest blue, green, medium blue, dark dark blue with pink clouds in it; unassuming ones with a band of orange fading to yellow fading to dark gray clouds.
Venus is the evening star. I can see it from the most southerly of the west-facing office windows, just between the neighbors' evergreen and the Norway maple on the boulevard. Tonight, in a subdued sunset of orange and yellow and pink, I couldn't find it. I went to the big library window. No Venus. There was a band of gray clouds above the pink of the horizon, but Venus should have been much higher than that. I got out my phone to check Google Sky Map. Eric texted me just then to say that he was on his way over. I answered him, and then looked at the sky again, raising the phone so that it would show me all the invisible stars and planets, and where the horizon was. Venus shone out, a pinprick to what it would be in full dark, but very much there. "Oh, there you are!" I said. I looked down at the phone to see how close Mars was to Venus, and when I looked back, Venus was gone again. Searching once more, I realized that the faintest of long stretchy clouds reached out from the horizon like ghost rays of the vanished sun. They were moving in the wind, and they hid and revealed Venus as they went, looking almost like an aurora.
The trees looked less stark than they had a few weeks ago. Buds might be starting.
Pamela
Edited to remove extraneous "window" from the text, as there are quite enough windows in the house already.
no subject
no subject
P.
no subject
no subject
P.
no subject
Last week I saw Venus and Mars fairly close together: Mars looked like he was a fishing lure (a pink rosehip of a fishing lure) dangling from Venus's fishing line.
no subject
I haven't had much luck with Mars yet this year, but I love your description. I am partial to Mars just because of the color visible even to unaided vision.
P.
no subject
no subject
P.
no subject
And hooray for almost-buds and the start of spring.
no subject
I am hooraying and feeling very peculiar and wary all at once. It is really too early.
P.
no subject
So, yeah, too early, but maybe (as if anyone could know, with three data points and continued forcing) the new normative pattern.
Daytime highs here have gone up about fifteen degrees as though someone flicked a switch. It's startling.
no subject
I LOVELOVELOVE those star-identifying apps! If I ever acquire a smartphone, that will probably be the first app I add.
no subject
Google Sky Map was the first app that I added. My brother swears by Stellarium, which does look nifty, but I resist change. 8-)
P.
no subject
no subject
The rain has saturated the ground to the point that there's a four inch deep pool in the driveway, several flower beds, and the entry walkway. The landlord doesn't want to hear about it, though, so we do a lot of wading! The eastern half of the state is doing well with rainfall. The west, unfortunately, not so good. Here's hoping that the reservoir ticks up a bit from all this rain.