At 12:26 a.m. on January 4, 2025, after night had fallen over the dark and silent forest, a Quadrantid meteoroid entered the domain of our planet. It burned through the atmosphere, leaving a long bright trail. A few seconds later it burst apart and vanished into the air, leaving my friend and me stunned in place. We had just set up the camera and pressed the shutter. The scene arrived as if it had been arranged, completely unexpected. We called ourselves the luckiest people and imagined the night would be full of harvest. When we returned at 4:30, I was still excited by that first photograph. The preparation was rushed, the focus was soft, and the meteor was partly blocked by trees. None of that mattered. To witness those few seconds of burning with my own eyes was already a gift. I respected it.
P.S. The funny thing is that we did not capture another meteor that night. More than once, just as we finished setting up the camera, I turned around and saw one streak across the sky.
On the night of the 5th, I learned to be calmer. My technique improved and the location was better. I captured some good moments, but time felt longer and less weightless than the first night. Near sunrise, I decided to record that too. The coldest part of an exhausted night is the moment before sunrise. After enduring the chill, I wanted to taste the first mouthful of sunlight. The mist was thin. The blue of the sky, the pale shadow of distant mountains, and the faint red of the ridges together formed the prelude to sunrise. When the moment arrived, the sun rose from the overlapping mountain pass. Nearby birds flew past in groups, calling. Through the viewfinder, I watched the process and once again felt the order and force of nature. The universe keeps moving by ancient rules. Whether human beings are a circle inside those rules or only an error may not be the final question.
P.S. The other funny thing is that after packing everything up and preparing to enjoy the sunrise, I found out the memory card had filled up before sunrise. The last photo stopped six minutes before it. The most beautiful sunrise continues only in memory...
P.S. to the P.S. Fortunately, another wide-angle camera captured the sunrise. It is good enough to look at.
There are many experiences not written here that are still worth recording. With variables, life stays fresh at every moment. They tell me that I am alive.
Some people in life are like fire meteors. They come briefly to your side, cross the edge of your sight, draw close quickly, give off enormous light, and then leave in a hurry. Some friends have only just arrived, yet soon we must say goodbye, and that brings a little sadness. There are also star-like people in life. They stay beside you. In daylight, perhaps you cannot see them clearly, but they are there. When night falls and you feel lost, look up again. The whole sky of stars is always blinking at you.
Written when saying goodbye to a meteor friend. Cherish star-like friends. Farewell, meteor friend.