Grieving for it all

I watched the occultation of Mars last night on an old telescope I purchased in Vermont in the 1990's. The pinprick of the nearby planet raced into a 48 minute disappearance behind the full Wolf Moon, which filled the range of vision. If the bright moon were the face of a clock, Mars moved from the lower right to the top left, disappearing by the 8 and exiting at 12:30.

And then the two bodies hurdled to separation—a brilliant clear white face leaving opposition, and Mars launching away at inconceivable distance and velocity on its own ellipsis. Iron oxide red saying fairwell to intimacy with its lunar playmate.

What courage both celestial bodies displayed. To hold your path. To not halt. To acknowledge that the next full moon occultation will be in 2042.

Los Angeles is burning below me. There are candles lit on my dining room table. A forgotten lamp I bought at Sundance with a 25 watt bulb offers warm light to a small circle across my small living room.

I offer no illumination to the world but I observe the reflective light around me, all in their own orbits. If I spin in a circle, dancing by myself, I join the interstellar bodies too. My mass and gravity influences the movement of Mars and the moon and the candles and the lamp, in precisely the correct proportion. I wish I could be heavier and stop the Santa Ana winds beneath me, so the burning of my hate-full country could pause for a few more days.