Perseid's Shower
Submission #5
Ann WJ White

We laid on our backs. Lake Itasca, the beginning of the Mississippi parkland.
A family waiting for the dusk to transmogrify into night full of stars and silence.
Waiting for meteors to travel at thirty-five seconds per mile above us. 

You joked this was the first time you had laid in a gutter, on purpose, that the stars
would be hammered into place as the kids giggled. The in-between us settled watching for
constellations. The ranger beamed a flashlight and told sky tales,
 
pointed out stars from above. Glowing, she taught us curiosities, sent clear streaks
of light back and forth, until we froze motionless; fire, red flaring rocks, burning,
streaking past our eyes in clusters of fifty or more, as barred owls called.

The cascade gathered Perseus's streak and tales of fame, dissolving into clouds of matter. 
The Perseids, through black air from a comet Swift Tuttle, flaming along their gaseous tails,
burning within our our atmosphere, never landing. A dance of freedom.

One hundred meteors an hour, two hours on the ground, warm air, soothing night breezes
breathing as small soft snores filled the air, fading into dreams. Hushful waking.
We silently gathered blankets, sleepy eyed children, and found our tent.