Perry Como sang this song when I was a child. I always loved it.
It is five a.m. and I have just come in off the porch. It is 22 degrees outside and since the porch is all open screening, it is close to that temperature out there, too. (I don’t think we are in Tallahassee anymore, Toto.) It is clear and cold with only a slight breeze. I went out prepared, wrapped in lots of layers for warmth and took two quilts: one to go under me and the other above. I have looked forward to the Perseid meteor shower for weeks and went out in hopes of viewing the “one per minute,” and sometimes more. I have seen meteors before from the porch and they are exciting. This morning was disappointing. I stayed a while and saw one teeny one. If it was not so cold, I would be willing to stay longer.
B just said from the kitchen, “It’s still going on out there.” And, of course, he is right: just because I did not see it, does not make it not be there; others are seeing it when I could not. There seems to be a deeper meaning here. The train conductor, voiced by Tom Hanks in the movie The Polar Express, has a line, “ Sometimes the things that are the most real, are the ones that cannot be seen.”
Maybe next year.