It was early August in 2009. The annual family weekend was in full swing, with aunts and uncles and cousins covering every hospitable part of my family’s island getaway in Haliburton.
The sun was long set and the campfire was burning low. Perhaps the moon had moved low on the horizon, or maybe the night was just dark enough that the moon didn’t matter; the stars were as bright as I’ve ever seen them, and they were falling.
We usually make a point of being out on the beach to watch the Perseids meteor shower, but that wasn’t until later in the month. This night was about the magic of unexpected shooting stars, with tails long enough that you could still catch a glimpse when someone said “did you see that one?”
We sat out by the fire for hours, laughing, singing the odd campfire song, basking by the dying embers and high on the hopes of a hundred wishes on falling stars. Life doesn’t get more perfect than that.
What’s your favourite shooting star moment?