The small observatory in the desert

At the top of a low hill in the desert there was a small white observatory with a round dome, and on warm nights its dome stood open to the sky.

The desert was quiet after sunset. The heat of the day rose gently out of the sand and the rocks, and the air was soft and warm, and it smelled of dry earth and the faint resin of the scrubby bushes that grew between the stones. The sky was enormous out here. It began at the edge of the land in every direction and went up and up, darker and darker, until it was deep indigo overhead, thick with stars.

Inside the observatory, an astronomer named Sol sat on a tall stool beside the telescope. She was not looking for anything in particular tonight. She had finished her real work hours ago, and the notebooks were closed and stacked on the desk. Now she was simply looking, because the sky was beautiful and the night was warm and there was no reason not to.

The telescope was old and made of brass and dark painted metal, and it moved on its mount with a smooth, heavy slowness. When she turned the wheel to guide it, it made a low hum, and the dome turned with it, very slowly, with a soft rumble like a cart rolling far away along a quiet road.

She put her eye to the eyepiece. There, in the round dark circle, was a star cluster, a small cloud of pale blue lights close together, like frost on a window. She looked at it for a long time. The stars did not move, or if they did, it was far too slowly to see. They had been there for longer than anyone could imagine, and they would be there tomorrow night, and the night after.

She sat back and let her eyes rest. Through the open slit in the dome, she could see a long ribbon of sky, and in it the soft glow of the galaxy, a river of pale light running from one horizon to the other.

Outside, the desert was making its night sounds. A cricket somewhere near the door, slow and steady. The faint whisper of warm air moving through the dry grass. Once, far away, the soft call of a night bird, two notes and then silence.

On the desk, a small lamp with a red shade gave just enough light to see by without spoiling her eyes for the dark. Its glow was warm and dim. Beside it sat a cup of mint tea she had made earlier, still faintly warm, and a plate with two dates on it. She ate one slowly. It was sticky and sweet.

She did not close the dome. The night was too warm and too lovely. Instead, she took the cushions from the old armchair in the corner and laid them on the floor beneath the opening, and lay down on them with a light cotton blanket over her legs.

From here, the slit in the dome was a long window full of stars. She lay and looked at them. The observatory ticked softly around her as the metal cooled. The cricket sang. The warm air moved gently over her face.

The stars were very far away, and very calm. They were in no hurry at all.

Sol’s breathing slowed. Her hands rested on the blanket.

She watched one star, and then another, and then her eyes closed.

Above her, the sky turned slowly. Below it, in the small white observatory in the warm desert, Sol slept.