McNaught

Today, in the late afternoon, I emerged from the office to seek the McNaught Comet. At first the sun still blazed brightly, half-sunk. I tromped down the sidewalk by the strip malls, the rushing traffic of 164th Street blasting by me on the snow- and dirt-crusted road. To the traffic light, from where I peered down the hill, to the horizon of tall pines, mountains behind them, and a clear and glowing sky. No comet.

I penetrated the parking lots. Walked past Walmart. Sought a clear view of the horizon, always seemingly obstructed by this or that - a building, a stand of pines. Circled a corporate complex inured from my entry by a fence. Trudged down a road towards more residential climes: found the entry to the corporation, and slipped past the fence, walking down the wooden steps leading to their levels and levels of parking lot cut into the hill, like a cake. I crept along the edge of a building, feet leaving marks in the snow behind me. Then I stood where the hill fell away. Beyond, a grassy, half-snowed field stretched, down towards the pines. A clear wide view of the horizon faced me. The sun had sunk completely; the mountains stood white and sharp against the golden sky.

No comet.

Cold now, disappointed, resigned, I started on my way back to the office. Perhaps I was facing the wrong stretch of sky. Up the layers of snowy parking lot, over the strips of grass alongside. Out onto the road again with its partial sidewalks. Back to 164th. I cast a glance behind me.

Comet.

There it was. Somehow - perhaps as the sun had sunk just so, with the sky deepening in color - it had come at last into relief. A blob of white asserted itself against the sky, with a hazed tail climbing up and a little to the side above it. Higher still, and well to the left, Venus glowed. I stood on the streetcorner amid the strip malls by the traffic light, and gazed at Comet McNaught in its high indifference.

So I crossed the street, plunged down again towards the flanking neighborhoods, and found an empty, dark parking lot wedged between the commercial and residential spaces. There, I could see the comet clearly, in the purpled and orange sky, mountains below it. No traffic obscured the view; just a few power lines; and I could stare quietly. The comet was not bright, nor enormous. But it was strange and distant, shining there, soft in the evening light, with its long history of omens and stories trailing behind it like its tail. It was somehow lovely to look at. I stared for a long time, until the horizon started to creep up toward it. Half-frozen, I went back, those few blocks to the narrow foot-beaten passage between low bushes that led to the office again.

I'm home now, resting, showered and tired. Last night I played ultimate out at a park near here, from 8 to 10 pm in the falling snow. The flakes were tiny dots, millions of them, so that a glance up presented the view with a complex star-scape of dotted, falling white. We ran about on the wet sand.

Omens and omens - a hummingbird's visit, the wandering bushtits, a clear pale comet. Travelers all.