Room Mating
The ascent on Ice House Road from Highway 50 doesn't look too promising. A strip of black pavement swerves up, winding through a burnt-out wilderness, a scarred dry terrain. Incinerated trees like chard columns of brittle corpses haunt the mountainside; a wasteland, ghoulish stick figures, the skeletal remains of a past life. Except for the wild flowers sprouting in sparse, promising colorful splashes, the recent wildfire was thoroughly devastating.
After five miles or so, thick, lush, green wilderness reappears. The road cuts through an undulating wall of evergreens, spruce, pine, sequoia. A few miles later, on the left, is Silver Creek Campground, El Dorado National Forest. The destination.
The turn-off takes Marta and Randel down a dusty, slalom-like boulder-straddling axle-bending descent into the camp area. The car parks in its own dust cloud.
They choose a spot inside a grove of sequoia. There is space for a tent on ground softened and padded with pine needles and loose dirt. Nearby, a wooden picnic table and a metal, encased fire pit. Silver Creek ripples unseen beyond the lower grassy knoll and aspen woods.
The sky has darkened by the time their campsite's in order.
Tent up, fire flaming, kerosene lantern glowing white, shadows casting upward into the pine canopy. A luminous sky crowns everything. This is their first overnight together.
The sky at six thousand feet on a clear, balmy August night. Perspective. Living in a metropolitan area, the ambient haze from street lighting reflected into the air above shields the city from the night sky's vast, breathless eternity. This nightly reminder of our place in the universe is a missing element in helping city dwellers understand where they are and who they are.
To be bathed in wonder. Turn the lantern down.
The earth is a glowing wonder ball spinning out of our control; we are substantial molecules with no specific purpose other than what we can believe in. This is what the sky says to Marta. While a trip to the Grand Canyon offers a revelation-- the layers of time geologically aligned -- the clear, black, star-studded night sky displays a magnificent, mind-boggling mystery and uncertainty.
The night sky stretches beyond comprehension. It does not fool the viewer like the sun-lit day sky does. The blue day dome puffed with cloud gives an earth-centric appearance to reality. The night sky gives perspective, dwarfs the imagination, makes a mockery of most of our cares and carrying-ons.
Whether there was a Big Bang or not, whether we can calculate the celestial distances, whether there are forms of life similar to human -- we will never solve the source nor the ultimate destination of the universe. Never. The heavens define eternity, infinity -- these things we will not be able to understand. The night sky says this to Randel. We are floating on a sphere that, if hit by a particle of cosmic debris, will kill us off and wipe out our every accomplishment, human history, every trace of existence.
The incredible pulsating sparkles of stars. Pinpricks.
Marta and Randel snuggle on a blanket and stare up at the informative sky.
The sky continues.
The distance from here to a near star. Measured in time, and traveling at the speed of light (5.8 trillion miles per year, Marta recalls impressively), if an ancient Egyptian had been propelled magically into space toward the opulent Crab Nebula, he would just now be arriving there. A five-thousand year trip. Of course he would be very dead. Certainly there wouldn't be any welcoming committee hailing his courageous voyage because the Crab Nebula is not really there; it burnt out thousands of years ago, all we see today is its afterglow.
By the time this very old pioneer turned around and came back to Earth, a little longer journey because of the expanding universe, there's a rather probable chance that we humans might be extinct by that not so distant date.
A twelve thousand year old creature with nowhere to go. That is who we are, they conclude.
Traveling at the speed of light and to go somewhere where earthly matters matter, such a space undertaking, seems an extremely remote possibility. Most science fiction about star trekking is destined to remain speculative fantasy within the universe of our heads. Space exploration means just that -- traveling through endless space.
The night sky says: the molecules that have coalesced into human form will disperse at our demise. The universe is indifferent to our plight.
The fire that stormed over the wilderness nearby comes to their collective mind. Nature is reminding us who's in charge. Beauty or not -- the mountain was wiped clean. Indifferent, and equal. One day humans will be wiped clean. Equally and indifferently.
The fragileness of it all.
The night sky is cold and heartless.
An unyielding teacher.
A distant lover.
Limitless room to get lost. Limitless room.
The night sky says: dream on. That is all we have, and each other, thankful to have another human to hold.
Dreams and each other.
"Room Mating" excerpt from "Merritt Arms" © 2000 by John Kirkmire, © 2013 Kirkworkshop. All rights reserved.
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The ascent on Ice House Road from Highway 50 doesn't look too promising. A strip of black pavement swerves up, winding through a burnt-out wilderness, a scarred dry terrain. Incinerated trees like chard columns of brittle corpses haunt the mountainside; a wasteland, ghoulish stick figures, the skeletal remains of a past life. Except for the wild flowers sprouting in sparse, promising colorful splashes, the recent wildfire was thoroughly devastating.
After five miles or so, thick, lush, green wilderness reappears. The road cuts through an undulating wall of evergreens, spruce, pine, sequoia. A few miles later, on the left, is Silver Creek Campground, El Dorado National Forest. The destination.
The turn-off takes Marta and Randel down a dusty, slalom-like boulder-straddling axle-bending descent into the camp area. The car parks in its own dust cloud.
They choose a spot inside a grove of sequoia. There is space for a tent on ground softened and padded with pine needles and loose dirt. Nearby, a wooden picnic table and a metal, encased fire pit. Silver Creek ripples unseen beyond the lower grassy knoll and aspen woods.
The sky has darkened by the time their campsite's in order.
Tent up, fire flaming, kerosene lantern glowing white, shadows casting upward into the pine canopy. A luminous sky crowns everything. This is their first overnight together.
The sky at six thousand feet on a clear, balmy August night. Perspective. Living in a metropolitan area, the ambient haze from street lighting reflected into the air above shields the city from the night sky's vast, breathless eternity. This nightly reminder of our place in the universe is a missing element in helping city dwellers understand where they are and who they are.
To be bathed in wonder. Turn the lantern down.
The earth is a glowing wonder ball spinning out of our control; we are substantial molecules with no specific purpose other than what we can believe in. This is what the sky says to Marta. While a trip to the Grand Canyon offers a revelation-- the layers of time geologically aligned -- the clear, black, star-studded night sky displays a magnificent, mind-boggling mystery and uncertainty.
The night sky stretches beyond comprehension. It does not fool the viewer like the sun-lit day sky does. The blue day dome puffed with cloud gives an earth-centric appearance to reality. The night sky gives perspective, dwarfs the imagination, makes a mockery of most of our cares and carrying-ons.
Whether there was a Big Bang or not, whether we can calculate the celestial distances, whether there are forms of life similar to human -- we will never solve the source nor the ultimate destination of the universe. Never. The heavens define eternity, infinity -- these things we will not be able to understand. The night sky says this to Randel. We are floating on a sphere that, if hit by a particle of cosmic debris, will kill us off and wipe out our every accomplishment, human history, every trace of existence.
The incredible pulsating sparkles of stars. Pinpricks.
Marta and Randel snuggle on a blanket and stare up at the informative sky.
The sky continues.
The distance from here to a near star. Measured in time, and traveling at the speed of light (5.8 trillion miles per year, Marta recalls impressively), if an ancient Egyptian had been propelled magically into space toward the opulent Crab Nebula, he would just now be arriving there. A five-thousand year trip. Of course he would be very dead. Certainly there wouldn't be any welcoming committee hailing his courageous voyage because the Crab Nebula is not really there; it burnt out thousands of years ago, all we see today is its afterglow.
By the time this very old pioneer turned around and came back to Earth, a little longer journey because of the expanding universe, there's a rather probable chance that we humans might be extinct by that not so distant date.
A twelve thousand year old creature with nowhere to go. That is who we are, they conclude.
Traveling at the speed of light and to go somewhere where earthly matters matter, such a space undertaking, seems an extremely remote possibility. Most science fiction about star trekking is destined to remain speculative fantasy within the universe of our heads. Space exploration means just that -- traveling through endless space.
The night sky says: the molecules that have coalesced into human form will disperse at our demise. The universe is indifferent to our plight.
The fire that stormed over the wilderness nearby comes to their collective mind. Nature is reminding us who's in charge. Beauty or not -- the mountain was wiped clean. Indifferent, and equal. One day humans will be wiped clean. Equally and indifferently.
The fragileness of it all.
The night sky is cold and heartless.
An unyielding teacher.
A distant lover.
Limitless room to get lost. Limitless room.
The night sky says: dream on. That is all we have, and each other, thankful to have another human to hold.
Dreams and each other.
"Room Mating" excerpt from "Merritt Arms" © 2000 by John Kirkmire, © 2013 Kirkworkshop. All rights reserved.
return to stories page