It has been a while since I pointed you toward my biweekly piece of nature writing in the Lakeville Journal, readable here with free subscription. Fair use extract:
"I still remember other nights and other places. I can still see the Southern Cross, twisting in the steel trusses of the old wind pump where I perched in the veldt by the waterhole, waiting. I think of nights spinning tales of Norse gods and northern lights while sailing a dog watch with my uncle beneath a rain of blazing meteors in the Gulf of Maine. Of the wispy lights of June fireflies beyond the garden gate. Of that once in a hundred years aurora that spread above Millerton one March night when my parents, sister and I were driving home from dinner.
These are the notes I hear in the roaring firs, the rain-spattered panes, the silence of lovers and the pulse of stars. Walt Whitman felt it, crossing Brooklyn Ferry, the multitudes we each contain. So did the Amherst recluse when she heard the interposing fly."