Letter From America: Lights In The Sky
Ronnie Bray sees things in the sky which are not what they seem to be.
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It is a true saying, and one I often say myself, which proves its veracity, that there is always something to see in the wide expanse of sky in and around the Phoenix area, and that includes the place where we have pitched our tent, in the glorious City of Mesa. It matters not whether it be night or day, the sky is full of things.
During the day, I glimpse winged raptors, hawks, falcons, and eagles hovering at around thousand feet as they scan the ground for tasty morsels, and watch with mounting excitement as shiny gackles, velvet doves, and familiar speckled sparrows make expeditious flight for sanctuary when they eye shapes above them in the air that they instinctively know are murderous.
Our house is on the flight path for honking geese as they head towards the Superstition Mountains a few miles to the east. In striking V formation, and remarkably low, it seems possible to reach up and touch them. They make a sight that makes my hair stand on end, and brings a thrill of joy to my heart.
Looking beyond these feathered creatures at the endeavours of those who cannot rely on what nature has provided to enable them to fly, but who, by employing knowledge drawn from observing birds, and then by inventing and harnessing suitable technology, have achieved what nature had denied – air travel for wingless mankind. We are constantly reminded of this whenever we cast our eyes towards the sky, where it is impossible to see less than three flying objects at any time, by day or by night.
And yet things are not always what they seem to be. I could, I suppose, blame it on my eyes, for my ophthalmologist has declared that she can see a Cadillac forming in each of my eyes. If they ever arrive, we will raffle them off and buy some Black Angus steak and have a slap-up dinner for us and the doggies.
Yet, I saw what I saw, even though I didn’t quite get it right on either occasion. The first thing I saw was the Goodyear dirigible. It was the same weekend that the Super Bowl game was played in Arizona, and I knew they hired the blimp to shoot aerial shots for television coverage, so I wasn’t surprised to see it up there.
The other sighting came in the twilight of the same day. I picked out Venus, poised between the nascent moon and the mountains, and noted that the Planet of Love glowed clear and bright. Perhaps it was a sign, an omen, but whatever else it might have been, it was an astonishingly romantic sight, and so I called Gay to come outside and share the vision splendid. She came. If she was not impressed, she did not say so, but smiled her nice smile, and then returned indoors.
In the prior chronicle, I have described the two phenomena, and will now, in the latter account, relate their windings up. The Goodyear balloon hovered over the same place for several hours. As the light changed, however, so did the appearance of the airship, and I was eventually able to see through the kitchen window that it was moored by its nose to a mast. How tall the mast had to be to secure the dirigible at such an elevation I could not imagine, but it must have been of considerable height.
As the twilight glim grew more grey and pearly, I saw a faint glow issuing from the underside of the ship. It grew brighter, and I thought for sure it must be afire. Goodyear needed to know about it, so I rummaged through the telephone directory urgently trying to find their corporate headquarters, and all the while the light from beneath the blimp grew yet brighter and orangier!
I stopped searching for Goodyear’s telephone number, because I figured that it would only be a matter of moments before those in the gondola of the airship would notice that they were on fire and bring it down safely and in time to save themselves.
The gloom drew on, and I watched, breathlessly, until I could see that the mast was situated against my next door neighbour’s back wall, which was very worrying. Gradually, I surveyed the scene as it unfolded from its appearance into its reality, and I discovered that the Goodyear vessel was nothing more than an elongated blimp-shaped aluminium cowl with glass bowl on the next street lamp up on the road that runs behind our house!
It was no more than half an hour later when I discovered Venus. After Gay went back inside, I stood looking at the celestial orb, and contemplating the mysteries of the universe, the meaning of life, what puppies are good for if you don’t love them, and other pendulous subjects that plague the minds of common folk world wide in their idle moments.
It was unusual for me to reach two such conclusions in one day, but on that day the unusual happened. I saw the Goodyear blimp turn itself into a street light before my very eyes, and, not to be outdone, the Planète de l'amour began to move across the sky in a westerly direction, and eventually landed on Number Two runway at Phoenix Sky Harbour International Airport.
Drat them Cadillacs, and drat my failing mind! Nonetheless, I must say, my grave misconceptions were exceedingly agreeable while they lasted. And, as the Great Scot poet, Rannie McBray reminds us:
"Now if some pow’r the giftie ga’ us,
To see things as they really are,
We’d but see drably what is common,
And keep from reaching for oor star."
Copyright © 2008 – Ronnie Bray
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
