By all means this should be a post filled with frustration for the city of Los Angeles. You know, the city that is full of light, so powerful it spills into the blackness of the night. The city that produces so much smog that it obscures the views of the heavens. And the city that prevents the land dwellers from seeing the meteor shower. The parade of falling stars that was was hyped up as an event, something to drive great distances for, stay up late to see, and totally worth the extra espresso shot in the AM.
You see, while I didn't see any falling stars last night, it still a night worth remembering. In a town when meetings with friends can be scheduled events and young people make phone calls to other young people on behalf of older people, it's a special evening when four friends can spontaneously get together for something that doesn't involve a screen. Here we were, four pals, together on a roof of a house, slightly happy we survived the climb to the top of roof, and with nothing but the hazy sky above us and the sound of city drifting to sleep around us.
Even though Los Angeles does a great job of obstructing the space above us we gazed into the tiny patch of stars we could make out, hoping to see a star crashing through the sky. There is something poetic about looking for falling stars in a city full of people seeking to become stars. In fact rather than calling them falling stars, why don't we focus on the replacement stars, the ones that rise up out of nowhere to take the fallen one's places. So while I missed the shower, hopefully somewhere in thislalife there was a star rising.