THE PERSEIDS

Once a year, the earth passes through a debris field left behind by the Swift-Tuttle comet. Enormous pieces of grit slam into our atmosphere at 130,000 miles per hour, light up the night sky, and flare out in seconds. Apparently, when the comet's predicted orbit near the sun was off by 17 days in 1992, there was some concern that it might come dangerously close to the earth or moon on its next passage in 2126. Frightening how cameras and telescopes (or photographing through a telescope, which is how I captured the image above) can mislead as they magnify, transforming speeding bullets into baubles.

I like how Annie Dillard put it in her essay on experiencing a solar eclipse: "The lenses of telescopes and cameras can no more cover the breadth and scale of the visual array than language can cover the breadth and simultaneity of internal experience. Lenses enlarge the sight, omit its context, and make of it a pretty and sensible picture, like something on a Christmas card. I assure you, if you send any shepherds a Christmas card on which is printed a three-by-three photograph of the angel of the Lord, the glory of the Lord, and a multitude of the heavenly host, they will not be sore afraid. More fearsome things can come in envelopes."