A flower blooms in the night

When was the last time you were outdoors in the dark?

By “in the dark,” I don’t mean “at night” — I’m talkin’ inky, far (or relatively far) from cities, towns, suburbs and other sources of light pollution. Places like that are special, and they’re hard to find.

The Mountain, according to folks who assign numbers to stuff like this, enjoys a “Class 4” sky rating on the Bortle scale. It’s situated in a transition zone between suburban and rural. Light pollution is low. The sky overhead is truly dark.

My home is only a couple of miles from Class 3 (rural) skies, and less than ten miles north of Class 2 (considered true dark sky). The Buffalo River, in fact, has been designated an International Dark Sky Park, its night skies rivaling some middle-of-nowhere places I visited four years ago — notably Garryowen, Montana and Belvidere (Midland), South Dakota.

I retire early these days, but because I’m an oh-dark-thirty riser, I’m treated to a magnificent night sky over The Mountain. I get to see things often now that previously I glimpsed only rarely, if ever.

And stargazing is but one perk of being awake and outdoors in the dark.

First of all, the air is different. Don’t ask me to explain that — it just is. The atmosphere is cooler, heavier but clearer, at rest between assaults from the sun.

The sounds are different. At that hour, creatures of night and twilight call and cackle and coo. At times, the world is completely still.

As dawn approaches, beginning above the trees at the summit, a glow overtakes the sky. It sweeps past me toward the west and, even before the sun clears the horizon, a soft light caresses this place.

There’s a sliver of time, in that light, when the unexpected is revealed.

Fifteen minutes before sunrise yesterday morning, I came upon this common evening primrose (Oenothera biennis). Its bright yellow flowers, clustered at the top of a slender four-foot stalk, seemed to shine with light of their own.

Now here’s the magic — an evening primrose blooms only at night. By the time the sun’s high in the sky, these flowers have disappeared.

I was present to receive that gift only because I was outdoors in the dark. You should be, too.

It tried like hell to storm on The Mountain before sundown yesterday. It didn’t. Everything went around to the south and east, and we got breathtaking skies and rumbling thunder.