A Summer Evening

Let me tell you about a summer evening, an evening of long ago; before Camelot* and even before Sputnik. This was before pollution from "security" night lights fouled the skies; a time when one stepped outside, the darkness was dramatic in its intensity. A time before youthful innocence had been replaced by the cares of caring; before tumultuous teen years when hormones draw attention from the world of one's self to the enchanting but confusing charms of girls.

A night in early July; a warm night when no air moved to make leaves dance. Scents of country stillness filled the nostrils with delightful memories to be. The grasses from the hillside where I lay and the small wild flowers strewn about added a slightly musky but sweet aroma to the ambiance. Lingering dust from the nearby dirt road lent its poignant smell to the surrounding air. No cars bounced along the rutted lane because it was nine o'clock and farm folk were getting ready for bed.

Overhead in a moonless sky, the Milky Way shimmered a path across heaven, and myriad stars twinkled an invitation to reach up and touch. Lightning bugs blinked their messages di amore, and a whip-or-will blessed the world with his own love calls. The sounds of the night were as beautiful as the stars above.

On the western horizon and over a far ridge, a thunderhead was building, flashing its power with sheets of lightning. Then the most awesome exhibition I had ever laid my young eyes on began in the northern sky. It was the first and last time I've seen such heavenly beauty... the northern lights were paying a visit.

For several long, breath abated minutes, shades of red, orange, and pink played and sang amongst the stars. The sounds around me disappeared from my mind as my entire being was mesmerized by the cosmic display before me. The stars in its midst seemed to dance to the melody of an unheard symphony. Then as quickly as it began, it ended. I sat and wondered about the miracle I had witnessed; being alone, I had no one to share a moment that has forever haunted my memory.

A summer evening on a hillside in Tennessee... a time and place where nature poured the essence of her soul into the heart of a young man. As a dear friend would say of such an occasion: Perfection!


*Camelot—for anyone not from the US—were the presidential years of John F. Kennedy.