In late April, I heard a news report that Earth would be passing through the debris of Halley’s Comet which would result in the annual “Eta Aquarids Meteor Shower” on the morning of May 5th. Because the meteor shower would be on best display between the hours of 3-5a.m., I decided that that the easiest way to enjoy the event would be to sleep on a cot, in a duck-down bag, in the middle of my backyard.

When the appropriate week rolled around, the nightly lows had been dipping into the mid-forties and the forecast called for calm/dry weather. Additionally, the fifth was a Tuesday so, the neighborhood should be reason ably quiet. All in all: perfect for a night under the sheltering sky.

After watching John Wayne in The Searchers (a film that remains stunningly beautiful to look at, despite its morally dubious central character), I set my cot up in the shade of one of the big pine trees in the backyard. If you’re wondering what I mean by “shade” in the blackness of night, I can tell you that the moon was nearly full and shone like a prison yard spotlight across the land from the time it rose (shortly after sun-down) until it set in the west around 3:30a.m.

I was tired enough though, that the gleaming “milk moon” wouldn’t faze me at all in my falling -- or staying -- asleep. So, after gazing heavenward for about 15 minutes (and witnessing one dazzling shooting star; so bright and prolonged that not even the huge moon could dull its arc), I closed my eyes and let sleep take me deep into a dreamless night. I had set my flipfone alarm prior to hitting the hay so when it sounded at 0300 hours, it shook me out of a place of virtual non-existence.

It only took a moment to orient myself and I was thrilled to see that the moon was close to setting and was, in fact, already behind a row of tall poplars in my neighbor’s yard. The night air was chilly but the good quality sleeping bag I had bought for my trip to Patagonia was well made and kept me as warm as a bear in its winter den. I trained my eyes to the sky and watched.

I kept my eyes roving from south to north and back again. Although I had not heard in the news report which compass quadrant might be best for meteor viewing, I had nonetheless placed my cot so that it faced the western horizon. Occasionally, I would tilt my neck so that I could scan a portion of the eastern heavens that lay behind me.

I picked out the constellations that I recognized (and I only know the ones that virtually everyone knows) and also studied what I figured were three of our fellow planets. I had heard that, at this time of year, the morning planets included Mars, Jupiter and Saturn and tonight, all three of the suspected planets shone brilliantly, especially now that the moon and its bright companion star, Spica, had set.

I was surprised by the number of satellites that steadily traversed the night sky. Sometimes, they would catch the yet-to-arise sun’s rays (since their orbit is high enough to reflect the pre-morning sunrise) in such a way that they would positively explode in a flare-up of light that lasted only a moment before they returned to their normal visible -- but non-spectacular -- light intensity. It was slightly depressing to me to observe just how many satellites criss-crossed the heavens (not only the normal and the Iridium satellites but potentially, also the International Space Station and Hubble Space Telescope). Yes, the satellites (etc) are useful (even “vital”) to us now but someday, they will be just so much cosmic debris.

All in all, during the two hours that I watched for meteors, I was lucky enough to have fantastic views of five spectacular streakers; none of which qualified as “fireballs” (aka: “bolides”) but all of which were breath-taking. I also had the briefest of glimpses of another several meteors -- ones that were not so long lived in their burning trajectories. Whether the meteors were sustained or mere flashes, it was easy to see why humankind has always revered their presence and has often seen them as events of great portent.

My mind turned to the ancient Greeks, famous for naming the nighttime objects of the cosmos. I envied them for what I imagined must have been their incredibly dark night skies. Happily, my neighborhood is without streetlamps, although, there are a couple of folks who do keep irritatingly bright porch/drive lights on all night long. Fortunately, their Shea Stadium levels of lighting were not directly visible to me from where I had positioned my cot. I wondered what it would take to get a “Dark Sky” designation for the tri-towns area and made a mental note to investigate that possibly some day soon.

All the while that I was watching the sky, I kept my other senses on high alert for other earthly phenomena. Far off -- perhaps on one of the neighborhood streets -- the distinctive odors of a skunk wafted through the still air. Oddly, the offensive stench of the skunk’s scent was mixing with the aroma emanating from the lilac bushes that were just beginning to bloom all throughout my yard. It was a case study in the Ying and the Yang of the olfactory world.

For a prolonged period of time, a Great-horned Owl softly hooted no more than 100 meters from my cot. I took comfort in the fact that maybe the owl’s calls would be heard by a rock squirrel that lives under my house -- hoping that the pesky varmint would be frightened by the hoots and would depart for safer accommodations, like somewhere in the vast forest that lies not far away on the Apache Reservation.

About the time the owl quit singing, a gaggle of Canada Geese, living somewhere on the southern shores of Rainbow Lake, commenced to making their pre-dawn commotion of half-hearted honks and other rusty-gate sounds. The first passerine of the day was, naturally, the robin, whose sing-songy cadence ran non-stop for the rest of the early morning hours. Now and then, the robin was joined by the plaintive cry of a Say’s Phoebe and later still, by the strident calls of jays, who, in turn, were followed by the low, nasal “yank” calls of a White-breasted Nuthatch.

About the time several species of finches, sparrows and warblers began their dawn songs, I was ready to get up from my cot; although I knew I would only be awake for another few hours before I would crave more sleep, this time in my regular bed. In the meantime, I went in to make coffee and then brought it outside in a thermos so that I could watch the light grow stronger and listen to the birds as they erupted into a full-blown cacophony of sounds; comprised of many different species making many different calls and songs. All too soon, unfortunately, the birds were competing with the racket of humans -- mostly coming in the form of trucker Jake brakes somewhere on Highway 260, as well as the sputtering sounds of older model pick-ups belonging to the earliest of landscaping and lawn maintenance crews.

Before I had finished my third cup of Joe, the romance of early morning was rapidly dissolving into the hum of humanity getting started with its daily bustle of commerce, toil and exchange. About the time I noted the innervating beeps of some large vehicle issuing its “back-up warning noise” (necessary only for the most oblivious of creatures), I decided it was time to put the early morning sun to my back and head out along a portion of the Rim Road that gently makes its way up to a local high point. The walk felt good, so I took the longer way home, the route that eventually, in the final leg of the short journey, offers a view of Rainbow Lake on one side of the road and a small marsh on the other. In the marsh, a Great-blue Heron practiced Tai Chi as he soaked up the sun’s warming rays.

When I returned home, I was hungry so I whipped up an atypically large breakfast of buttered toast, scrambled eggs and hash-browned potatoes; all washed down with a big glass of grapefruit juice. Even though it was still relatively early, the night spent outdoors followed by some good exercise and a big breakfast had made me sleepy.

Given that I am in the enviable position of being retired, I decided it was time to go back to bed. Maybe my wake/sleep hours were briefly turned on end but I didn’t expect to take on the lounge-act lifestyle of a Tom Waits with any regularity. Besides, I like to think that my odd hours on this particular day were a bit more like those of someone such as John Glenn; a guy who probably knew something about spending quiet, stationary time just staring at the celestial bodies of the universe.