Morning stars

It is not yet six here, but for some reason I am completely up and alert, so here I am blogging by the end of the oil in the lamps I neglected to blow out last night. I don't conciously feel particularly dramatic about leaving, (I'll be back in two weeks after all), but I can't deny I tend to dramatically wake up before dawn my last night in a place. I can't walk to the Eiffel Tower or to the beach here, in fact since the moon has set and it is pitch dark I am pretty sure the only thing dramatic I could achieve by walking anywhere off our hundred meters of path would be to fall in the lake.S'alright, like I say, this isn't really a moment of drama anyway (unless you count the 40 hour epic of Getting Home From Ndali: a Saga in At Least Six Acts) and at any rate watching the stars from the porch is about as melo as you could ask for. If I had to pick a nerdy tourism goal (some people travel l to birdwatch, some for architecture, some for music, someone came here who photographs flowers apparently; in reality, let's be honest, I travel to eat) it would be stargazing. I'm told the stars are nothing here compared to Botswanan desert and I know I've seen open ocean stars, but they are still literally breathtaking, as in I catch my breath when I walk out on a clear night unprepared. Or morning in this case. Just dazzling; I wish I could photograph it somehow but that wouldn't recreate the feeling of being under the starry dome. I think I've said this here before, but it feels ancient-these are the stars as Greek writers saw them, as everyone did - suppose until the Industrial Revolution. Since I know I can't convey what it feels like, just let me say, be sure to get yourself somewhere remote on a clear night with no moon. It is especiallt striking now because I'm not used to seeing the stars at this time; the sky is all spun around so Orion's passed overhead to theWest, Jupiter has traveled from high overhead to staring in my window, I'm seeing the Big Dipper for the first time here (apparently the Brits call it The Plough which is rather more poetic) and I think the Milky Way has come into view, though I'm not positive you can see it this time of year.

Ha! In the time it took to thumb out the above (I'm blackberry blogging, so apologies for formatting) the stars have gone and the rim of the ridge above the lake has gone red. Only Jupiter is left, now. [EDIT: Apparently that can't be Jupiter, and must be Saturn or Venus. Who knew.] We'll have our usual understated dawn in a few minutes, the same time, give or take about half an hour, that it is every single day of the year. How strange that in two days my days will be shortened, not to mention altogether different in most ways you can think of.

I'm going to consider reading myself back to sleep; good night and if you are on the east coast, till soon!