Lights in the Sky
Lights coming straight over the top of Mount Rainier at night do look like something more dangerous and exotic than an airplane; you can see why Washington is the UFO sighting capital of the country. (Or is it the world?) I thought it was the moon at first, rising with alarming speed and brightness. It came straight on for quite a while, then veered off south. Even the way it dropped out of sight behind Point Defiance seemed suspect -- probably because I was watching it more closely than I’d normally watch an airplane flying broadside: Are those red lights that high up on the plane normally? Fox Mulder, peering over my shoulder at the darkness that closed in behind the plane, begs to differ. “Are you sure it was a plane?” he demands. “What are you, an aeronautical engineer?”
Carl Sagan’s answering laugh is extra derisive; I suspect he does not appreciate being made to debate a fictional character. He reminds us both that a plane is miracle enough, among the most amazing sights we’ll ever behold, and we’d appreciate that if only we hadn't allowed ourselves to become inured to wonder. Mulder snorts rudely. He throws a glance of skeptical contempt, which bounces harmlessly off Sagan, and stares longingly into the distance. You can always awaken Mulder’s shadow-thin skepticism by suggesting a prosaic explanation for the marvelous.
Standing between them, I feel an unexpected warmth of camaraderie. They may not get along but they’re both outside with me tonight, wide awake and looking at the sky. Both lived before the time of Netflix, but you can’t imagine either allowing himself to be lured inside to binge-watch “The Office” even on a night of drenching rain. Their positioning, one over each shoulder, suggests the old angel/devil dichotomy, but I’m not buying it. Tonight’s drama isn't a rehash of the age-old battle between good and evil; it sparks between two rival storytellers competing over the same story. Like the unexpectedly brilliant airplane, the tension lends glamour to an otherwise ordinary night.
Carl Sagan’s answering laugh is extra derisive; I suspect he does not appreciate being made to debate a fictional character. He reminds us both that a plane is miracle enough, among the most amazing sights we’ll ever behold, and we’d appreciate that if only we hadn't allowed ourselves to become inured to wonder. Mulder snorts rudely. He throws a glance of skeptical contempt, which bounces harmlessly off Sagan, and stares longingly into the distance. You can always awaken Mulder’s shadow-thin skepticism by suggesting a prosaic explanation for the marvelous.
Standing between them, I feel an unexpected warmth of camaraderie. They may not get along but they’re both outside with me tonight, wide awake and looking at the sky. Both lived before the time of Netflix, but you can’t imagine either allowing himself to be lured inside to binge-watch “The Office” even on a night of drenching rain. Their positioning, one over each shoulder, suggests the old angel/devil dichotomy, but I’m not buying it. Tonight’s drama isn't a rehash of the age-old battle between good and evil; it sparks between two rival storytellers competing over the same story. Like the unexpectedly brilliant airplane, the tension lends glamour to an otherwise ordinary night.
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