©KSNT News
© Copyright 2017
by Ralph F. Couey
Wildfires are a way of life in the western U.S. Every summer, the rains stop, the heat starts, and the land dries to a matchstick volatility. At that point, it only takes a spark from a small campfire, a large spark from a lightning bolt, or in one case, radiant heat from a parked SUV's catalytic converter to get blaze going. This year has been no different with acreage burning in just about every western state except Washington.
Here in Denver, a freakish meteorological condition involving the jet stream has funneled smoke from fires burning not just in Colorado, but from California, Montana, and Oregon into and over the Mile High City. The sky, normally a clear and vivid blue now resembles 1964 Los Angeles. Folks with respiratory ailments have been forced indoors with air conditioners running on days when frankly, they weren't needed temperature wise. This has affected not only the visibility, but the usual Chamber of Commerce views of the Rockies have been completely obscured. At night the moon rises, the smoke cloaking it in an ominous blood-red lens. It is s altogether annoying, if not unsettling.
One evening, I had the occasion to watch the sun make it's regular descent to the horizon. Normally our star is such a blazing white-hot presence in the sky, dangerous to observe directly. We tend to think of it only as that familiar ball of light and heat. But on this evening, as the sun raced to the horizon, I was able to comfortably observe it's oft-unseen face.
I am something of a space nut. Have been since listening to Alan Shepard's suborbital flight on the radio. So, when I look at the moon, I don't see a flat disk. I perceive it in its three-dimensional form; a planetoid hanging in space. On this evening, I could see the sun in the same way. On the surface, I could see several sunspots, a reminder that our star was at the active peak of its eleven year cycle.
It's easy to see the sky as a two-dimensional print, glowing orbs and points of light against an ink-black background. It's actually kind of mind-stretching to be reminded that those objects are a mixture of the relatively near and the stunningly far away. I suppose most don't think about such things, mainly because earthbound concerns tend to crowd out cosmic speculations. Some avoid those thoughts because any contemplation of the vastness of the universe tends to make one feel small and insignificant. I take a different view.
Analysis of Hubble Space Telescope data now indicates that the number of galaxies in the known universe has jumped from 300 billion to over 2 trillion. Each one of those galaxies contain on average about 300 billion stars. Some stars have planets, others have none, but exoplanet discoveries now have scientists suggesting an average of 1.6 planets per star. Take that number times 300 billion stars, times 2 trillion galaxies, and even with those kinds of numbers, we humans are, as far as we know, the only intelligent technological species in the universe. Rather than feeling small, in that light, we are precious and special beyond measure.
And yet, even if only a thousandth of one percent of those planets harbored life, that still leaves tens of millions of possibilities. But with the enormous distances between those stars, even that knowledge would be only of academic interest. We could never communicate meaningfully, and travel would be out of the question.. But the contemplation of the physical universe, curiosity about the unknown, and the courage to ask the unanswerable questions is what defines us as humans. We can never be satisfied with the trite phrase "That's all there is to know." Even when we reach an answer, its never final or complete because those answers raise even more questions. The universe we know is both finite and infinite, as is the power of our imagination. We love having our minds stretched. And there's no better place to stretch than across the universe.
No comments:
Post a Comment