sungrazers

daredevil comets zipping by our star and musings on monuments

Dear word explorer,

I’ve learned a new astronomy term: a sungrazer comet. The term came about in the 1890s partly due to the work of German astronomer Heinrich Kreutz on comets which travel super close to the Sun at their perihelion. This causes them to shine brightly and make them observable to us, but the risky manoeuvrer can make them combust or break into smaller pieces. Their sizzling encounter with the sun also results in magnificent tails of dust.

There is even a tribe of sungrazers, called the Kreutz sungrazers, which follow similar orbits — arriving from the farthest reaches of the solar system to swing past the sun and our viewpoint.

It’s likely that this clan of comets were spawned by a giant mother comet that broke up under the intense heat and gravitational force of our star. It was probably the Great Comet of 1106 which has produced several other ‘great comets’, such as the Great Comet of 1882 and Comet Ikeya–Seki in 1965.

It must be proud of its progeny!

Comet C/2023 A3 (Tsuchinshan-ATLAS). Image captured on 30 Sept, 2024 at Farm Tivoli in Namibia, by Gerald Rhemann, Michael Jäger, and Denis Möller.

You might think I’m mentioning this because of our current luminous comet visitor, Tsuchinshan–ATLAS (I discussed this last week), which has passed its perihelion and is heading for its swift flyby of our planet, but no, it’s because another comet has been observed.

On 27 September, 2024 the ATLAS survey in Hawai’i spotted a new comet, which has the designation of A11bP7I currently. It is thought to be another Kreutz sungrazer, which will reach perihelion on the 28th of October. If it survives its sun-skimming it could provide marvellous a sight in our night skies in November.

In the past, smaller comets like these were noticed by one of the hardest-working observatories in space: the joint NASA-ESA Solar and Heliospheric Observatory mission (SOHO). Launched back in December 1995, its job was to report on the sun with an expected mission end date around 1998. Instead, it has industriously continued to collect and send data to scientists about the sun, including identifying more than 5,000 comets. Next year will mark its thirtieth year in operation.

It would be nice if the average kitchen appliance would last so long, but they are not designed by NASA & ESA engineers…

‘Mothership’ sculpture by Rachel Joynt (1999) at Dun Laoghaire, Co. Dublin.

Down here on planet Earth it’s been a strange few days for me, with a couple of friends surviving sudden and dangerous encounters, and having a series of power outages on Sunday. In this mix I attended happy family gatherings, which gave me a kind of emotional whiplash while also reminding me to maintain focus on the here and now.

But most shocking and sad, was the news that an old friend had experienced the passing of his beloved wife, due to illness. It was not unexpected (yet the reality of death shifts the earth under your feet) but it was a surprise to Martin and me.

We drove yesterday across the width of Ireland to attend the viewing at the funeral home and offer love and hugs to our friend at this difficult time. As usual, brushes with mortality hammer in the importance of how we pass our limited time.

Always, it brings to mind the second half of Mary Oliver’s poem, ‘The Summer Day’, written in 1992.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

What a question!

Oliver pivots her musing into a direct confrontation of the reader. We are with her while she walks through the grass and suddenly she is in our faces, asking us to answer for the responsibility of how we spend our lives!¹

I suspect that many people might be made uneasy by the idea that their life is ‘wild and precious’, yet for those who are facing down the barrel of death there is little patience for healthy people dithering about what to do with their time… and yet…

Most people can’t remain in states of heightened awareness of mortality. The daily graft, the bills, the expected routines, will wear away on the urgency. And some of that is natural and normal.

Archer II by Niall O’Neill, Dun Laoghaire, Co. Dublin

In between events yesterday, Martin and I went for a walk in the seaside town of Dun Laoghaire, enjoying the snap of autumnal chill and the warmth of the intermittent sun. Cloud boulders rolled across the Irish sea, threatening rain, but never delivering.

We walked to the pier, past the sculptures, and inhaled salt-rich breezes. I took pictures, relishing the return of my love of photography, which had withered away earlier in the year thanks to social media ennui.

I thought about these monuments, created in the minds of the sculptors, realised and fashioned with their labour, and erected for future generations to admire (or ignore). They succeeded in their art. For what ends?

For beauty.

For me.

Seaweed on Dun Laoghaire docks, Co. Dublin.

On the slippery concrete steps, eerie life from the depths of the sea staged a temporary art show.

The next tide will return them to its hidden realm. Who will remember their glorious shapes?

I will.

We drifted back to the town, to enjoy a meal before a get-together in the pub and the dark drive over winding motorways to the West of Ireland.

We would play old songs, sing along, and eat crisps and sweets — the trashy treats allowed as fuel for a long journey. Silly, inconsequential fun that is the bedrock of a happy life.

‘Dom was here’, sticker.

As we approached the main street to select a restaurant, I noticed a pipe attached to a wall with a sticker, stating in bold print: ‘DOM WAS HERE’.

This simple project was dreamed up by someone and made manifest.

It’s that same urge. To be seen. To be remembered.

To make a mark.

What mark do you wish to make?

1. It should be noted that Oliver was content to be in nature and enjoy herself before she skewered the reader with her impertinent question. Must we fill our days with production and activity? Perhaps the only reliable goal is to be fully present with the ones we love whenever we can. We cannot control what memorials will survive our end. We can decide to explore, create, connect, love, laugh and remain curious now.