Musings on North

The full moon is shining upon us tonight. Buxom and bright, it casts its cool shadows on this steamy world below.

"Too hot down there?" it seems to be saying. "Come, sail up my rivers of light and splash a while in my soothing pools. The crickets' wings will fan the winds to speed you along."

Though the cicadas' robust songs fill the airways in the days, the crickets' constant orchestra rules the noises of the night and churns the air with its excited whirs.

But of course, casting off on a boat of dreams and winging through the crystal night is not something that comes easily to the earth-bound, like me.

So instead, at this wee hour of the morning, my mind wanders to other bounded parts of nature and settled upon my constant neighbor "North."

North seems, at first glance, to be something of a lo yutzlah, an unfortunate who is constantly grasping the short end of the stick! What is it like, after all, to be the only part of the sky that never hosts the fiery sun? How does it feel when the moon plies its nocturnal path, casting its light from every other quadrant as it wanders its way from horizon to horizon, but not from you? What is it like to know that the shadows of the earth all bow before the other directions, but not before you?

But then, I thought, perhaps I am thinking about this all wrong. Perhaps there is privilege in being North after all.

If North is relieved of the burden of host, it still is called to the task of guest. In a witty essay from 1918, Max Beerbohm argues that the world is divided into two classes of folk: hosts and guests. And while each may pose as the other at various unfortunate times, their true calling, and true talent, lies as either one or the other.

North, in this light, is the inveterate guest.

So what, then, if the shadows bow in the face of east, south and west. In doing so, the bulk of them reach deeply for north, leaning, stretching ever closer til the apex of midday, then exhausted, settle back, sated or not, and prepare for their northward adventure the next day.

Never the center stage, never changing, north has honed its place as loyal attendant and faithful audience. It is the constant watch as the heavens parade their celestial orbs from the tip of east to the tip of west, horizon to horizon, via the southerly route of the sky.

North is our steady guide. It is the place we look to for stability and shade, a place of refuge and regrouping; the direction that holds us fast when we cast about recklessly in all other directions.

North is the place of earth's finest vantage point, the best of all viewing grounds from which to gaze upon the drama of the sky.

If North is not like east, south and west, so they are not like it. Each has its unique role. Each has its distinct calling. And it is when each plays well at what it does best that we are all most truly blessed.

(Photo: Sierra Club)