One of the quiet gifts of creating ๐ป๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐ถ๐๐๐ข๐๐ ๐ด๐โ๐๐๐ ๐ก has been discovering where it travels – and who it keeps company with.
Bob shared this account of a mid-December night he recently spent watching the Geminids meteor shower:
๐ ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ง๐๐๐ซ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐๐ง ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ซ๐ข๐ฉ๐ฌ. ๐๐๐. ๐๐–๐๐ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐๐ฅ๐ฐ๐๐ฒ๐ฌ ๐ ๐ ๐จ๐จ๐ ๐ง๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ ๐๐จ๐ซ ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ฌ…
๐๐๐ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ฌ ๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐จ๐ ๐๐๐ง ๐๐ข๐๐ ๐จ, ๐๐ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ฌ ๐ฐ๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐จ๐ ๐๐ฅ ๐๐๐ง๐ญ๐ซ๐จ. ๐๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐๐ ๐๐๐จ๐ญ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฅ๐จ – ๐ซ๐จ๐๐๐ฌ๐ข๐๐.
๐:๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ซ๐ญ ๐ฏ๐ข๐๐ฐ๐ข๐ง๐ . ๐๐๐% ๐ฏ๐ข๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ข๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ. ๐๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ง๐ข ๐๐ข๐ซ๐๐๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐จ๐ฏ๐๐ซ๐ก๐๐๐ – ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ซ๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐ค๐ฒ ๐๐๐ฒ. ๐๐ง๐๐๐ซ ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ข๐ซ ๐๐๐๐ญ - ๐๐จ๐ - ๐๐ซ๐ข๐จ๐ง, ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐๐ฏ๐๐ง ๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ซ๐ฌ. ๐๐๐ซ๐ก๐๐ฉ๐ฌ ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐๐๐ฏ๐จ๐ซ๐ข๐ญ๐ ๐ฌ๐ค๐ฒ.
๐๐ญ ๐:๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐ก๐๐ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ญ๐๐ ๐๐๐! ๐๐ก๐๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฌ๐จ ๐๐ซ๐๐ช๐ฎ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ ๐ง๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ญ ๐จ๐ง ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐ซ๐ฌ… ๐๐ง๐ ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ญ ๐จ๐ ๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐ง. ๐๐ก๐๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฆ๐จ๐จ๐ง ๐๐๐ฆ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฉ.
๐๐°. ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ญ ๐ง๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ.
(And then, with a sign-off that still makes me smile: "๐ต๐๐, ๐กโ๐ ๐ข๐๐๐ฆ ๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐๐.")
I love this letter not just for its poetry and precision, but for what it represents – someone far from the Valley, standing on the side of a road in the dark, counting meteors, orienting himself by constellations, using the sky as both map and meaning.
That’s what Head in the Clouds Amherst has always hoped to be: an invitation to notice. To be curious. To step outside, literally or figuratively, and look up.
As we head into 2026, my wish for all of us is simple: may you find moments like Bob’s. Clear skies. Unexpected beauty. And reasons to pause, tilt your head back, and remember you’re part of something vast and wonderful.


