January 12: Big Dipper
Kristen Lindquist
over my head
upended Big Dipper
pouring out darkness
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: Big Dipper
December 7: Orientation
Kristen Lindquist
Home renovation.
Being able to find
the Big Dipper.
November 30: Wood-stoves are lit
Kristen Lindquist
Posted with BlogsyNovember 20: To Vermont
Kristen Lindquist
November 14: Owl kind of night
Kristen Lindquist
Light snowfall, falling dark.
I drive toward the Big Dipper
expecting owls.
I drive toward the Big Dipper
expecting owls.
November 5: We vote at the firehouse in my hometown
Kristen Lindquist
Big Dipper's handle curves
above hulking fire trucks,
all those cast ballots.
above hulking fire trucks,
all those cast ballots.
October 8: Direction
Kristen Lindquist
Stepped out last night to see if the aurora borealis visible in northern Maine was visible here.
all afternoon, and now
Big Dipper points north.
April 22: Lyrids
Kristen Lindquist
Tonight the Lyrid meteor shower peaks. But the waxing moon is too bright most of the night. And I'm not the kind of person who can wake before dawn, just after the moon has set, so I can freeze half-awake in the back yard waiting for stars to fall. Those wishes will have to remain unexpressed until the next shower of space dust.
In the moon-washed sky
Big Dipper spills onto our house
unseen meteors.
In the moon-washed sky
Big Dipper spills onto our house
unseen meteors.
February 7: Big Dipper
Kristen Lindquist
Driving home from an evening meeting tonight, the Big Dipper rose above the road, standing on the end of its handle.
Big Dipper tipped up--
the whole night sky
spilling out over the fields.
Big Dipper tipped up--
the whole night sky
spilling out over the fields.
December 3: Septentrional
Kristen Lindquist
I subscribe to wordsmith.org's Word.A.Day, which I highly recommend to anyone fascinated by words and language. As a linguistics minor in college (and a writer), I admit I'm kind of a word nerd, so am always delighted when each day's new word appears in my email In box. This week's theme is "words derived from numbers." Today's word--septentrional, which means "northern"--particularly struck me because it's not only unusual, it's also related to one of my favorite constellations, the Big Dipper.
Here's the etymology, according to Word.A.Day: "From Latin septentriones, literally the seven ploughing oxen, a name for the seven stars of the Great Bear constellation that appears in the northern sky. From Latin septem (seven) + triones (ploughing oxen). Earliest documented use: around 1400."
The Big Dipper goes by many names around the world: Ursa Major, the Great Bear; Charles' Wain or Wagon; the Plough; the Drinking Gourd; the Seven Wisemen; the Frying Pan; even the Salmon Net. As a circumpolar constellation, it wheels around Polaris, the North Star. To find the North Star, you trace a line in the sky up through the two stars that form the right side of the ladle. So its meaning of "northern" makes perfect sense, even while the backstory involving seven oxen might be a little less clear, lost in translation over time.
Seven stars, many stories.
We face north, align
with the heavens.
Here's the etymology, according to Word.A.Day: "From Latin septentriones, literally the seven ploughing oxen, a name for the seven stars of the Great Bear constellation that appears in the northern sky. From Latin septem (seven) + triones (ploughing oxen). Earliest documented use: around 1400."
The Big Dipper goes by many names around the world: Ursa Major, the Great Bear; Charles' Wain or Wagon; the Plough; the Drinking Gourd; the Seven Wisemen; the Frying Pan; even the Salmon Net. As a circumpolar constellation, it wheels around Polaris, the North Star. To find the North Star, you trace a line in the sky up through the two stars that form the right side of the ladle. So its meaning of "northern" makes perfect sense, even while the backstory involving seven oxen might be a little less clear, lost in translation over time.
Seven stars, many stories.
We face north, align
with the heavens.
May 18: Monhegan weekend, first night
Kristen Lindquist
The first of two nights on Monhegan Island for the weekend. I went to bed sated by a day of perfect weather, dozens of birds flitting through the trees, hours of walking on trails winding past blossom-laden apple trees and lilacs, the great company of friends old and new, and a good supper. The night was chilly but I left my windows open so I could hear the sound of the waves crashing and the foghorn over on Manana. Also, so that in the morning I'd awaken at first light to bird song. I crawled into my sleeping bag happy and, unusual for me, fell asleep right away.
My cabin is a separate building from the one that contains the bathroom, so in the middle of the night I was forced to traipse across the dewy lawn. When I looked up, however, I was glad that I'd had to go outside. The night sky was clear and full of stars, unimpeded by light pollution so far offshore. In fact, it was a challenge to make my way 20 yards across the lawn. So late at night, the stars looked out of place, and I had to re-orient myself with the Big Dipper, which was tipped up in a different direction than when I saw it much earlier in the evening. My first thought was how beautiful and rare it is these days to see the sky like that. My second thought was that this clear sky means birds are migrating, and some of them will find the island at dawn so that I can hopefully find them.
Late night, glasses off--
swarms of stars blur overhead,
guiding birds northward.
My cabin is a separate building from the one that contains the bathroom, so in the middle of the night I was forced to traipse across the dewy lawn. When I looked up, however, I was glad that I'd had to go outside. The night sky was clear and full of stars, unimpeded by light pollution so far offshore. In fact, it was a challenge to make my way 20 yards across the lawn. So late at night, the stars looked out of place, and I had to re-orient myself with the Big Dipper, which was tipped up in a different direction than when I saw it much earlier in the evening. My first thought was how beautiful and rare it is these days to see the sky like that. My second thought was that this clear sky means birds are migrating, and some of them will find the island at dawn so that I can hopefully find them.
Late night, glasses off--
swarms of stars blur overhead,
guiding birds northward.