Last night my sister -- who keeps track of things of an astronomical nature -- posted on Facebook that International Space Station was to fly overheard about 9:39 p.m.
It was 9:34.
I ran outside, and craned my neck, sweeping the sky, looking for something that was 'really brilliant, but NOT blinking.' ('If it's blinking, that's not it.')
There's a lot of light pollution around my house, but still, on such a clear, still night, the stars were out. And the sky was alive with blinking things -- white things, red things, yellow things.
I walked all around the house, looking, looking. And then, to the north, coming from the west --
A large, bright light. Definitely not blinking. Moving rather quickly. It swept across the sky, when it began fading, and faded out long before it approached the horizon.
Somewhere up there, astronauts worked and slept and ate and looked out their windows. And somewhere down here, near Fort Wayne, Indiana, I watched them go by.
So today, I read that if the Russians can't figure out their rocket problems, the space station may go unmanned, at least temporarily.
How lonely that light would be, without the eyes watching me.