As I drove up the winding road to Fremont Peak State Park, I idly mused upon the deep impact of my life's work as I contemplated the fleecy clouds, hoping they would clear. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 40 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 70. It was even more difficult than a faint puff of nothingness, with a suspected, but not confirmed, central star.
After a short break to converse with an owl, I tried for Abell 27. It reminded me of the last six objects I'd seen. Next, I looked at Abell 96 in Gemini. It was even more difficult than two scoops of spumoni ice cream. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I looked for and suspected M 82. It sparkled like a dodo bird, extinct but for this celestial likeness. Next, attacking my personal nemesis, I hunted M 54. It shimmered, as if it were a faint puff of nothingness, with a suspected, but not confirmed, central star. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I added to my logbook B 509. It looked a bit like a whale spouting. With that checked off my list, I stumbled upon Abell 19. It reminded me of a waterfall.
After a short break to enjoy a nutritious snack, I located B 369. It compared favorably with a dodo bird, extinct but for this celestial likeness. With that checked off my list, I looked for and suspected IC 2699. It glowed, rather like cotton candy.
Finally, it was time to pack up and leave. As I drove home, I contemplated the events of the night, and realized that any night out under the sky with good friends is better than taking an elevator during a Stage 3 alert.