Watching The Skies - Part 2 - The Tears of St Lawrence

Barefoot in the cool August grass, my nightshirt brushing softly across the tops of my knees, I stand beneath the waxing moon, waiting for the annual Perseids display. The hands on the clock have passed the witching hour. The day is in its infancy but, other than a few ghostly grey patches where wispy clouds sit, the sky is black.

Nothing happens. My neck stiffens as I crane to peer into the darkness, so I make my way to the garden swing, sit down, and recline against the metal frame. Staring at the sky, I am sure that I see flickering flashes of light behind the clouds above my head - is that the meteor shower, or just my imagination? I can’t be sure.

The swing creaks as I shift, metal digging into my shoulder blades. I stand, cross to the centre of the lawn and flop down. I lie on my back, arms spread wide like I am making a snow angel. A small laugh slips out, as I imagine my neighbour looking out of the window, the glow of their room behind them, and me, the madwoman in nightclothes, haunting her own garden in the dead of night.

I lie still for a while, staring into the vast void above me, listening to the sounds of the night. I hear the distant rumble of the M6, the traffic making its way to unknown destinations. Two cats are scrapping and yowling in the street and I hear the flitter of bat wings as a tiny creature darts through the darkness - but there is still no sign of the tears of St Lawrence*.

Then I see one. It happens so suddenly, so briefly, that I question my own eyes. A silver streak flashes across the black, and I feel giddy. My skin tingles and my heart leaps. Another flash follows. And another. Each one leaves me breathless, suspended between disbelief and delight. Then the sky is at rest again.

Tiny stars wink above me as I blink, and the air falls utterly still. Without warning, for reasons I can’t name, tears prick at my eyes. I push myself upright. An eerie sensation washes over me and I feel like I am no longer alone. My pulse quickens and as I rise to my feet and hurry toward the house, a cold shiver runs down the length of my spine.

I look up one last time, and I see a single light moving across the sky, slower, brighter, somehow different from those I saw earlier. It feels as if this sight is meant for me alone, a quiet message from somewhere far away… one that I can’t quite hear. I look away, heart pounding, while my mind scolds me for being childish. I step inside my kitchen, lock the door and make my way upstairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

That night, I dream of bright lights streaking across darkness. Of being small beneath an endless sky. I think of my Mum, of the time that she promised to send signs she is with me in unexpected places and I am comforted. In the morning, the memory of that streak and the thought of Mum linger, a reminder that wonder can be found in the smallest of moments, and that, perhaps somehow, she is still a part of them?

References: 
* https://www.rmg.co.uk/stories/space-astronomy/perseid-meteor-shower-guide-uk-when-where-to-see
https://parishnews-online.co.uk/the-tears-of-st-lawrence/