As I drove up the winding road to my driveway, I idly mused upon the socioeconomic impact of Norse mythology as I contemplated the night's aurora display. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 44 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 95. It appeared to be Smokey the Bear. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I studied IC 548 in Canes Venatici. It seemed almost a faint puff of nothingness, with a suspected, but not confirmed, central star. Next, I logged IC 2591. It appeared to be spent coals, faintly glowing. After that, I had a chance to see B 563. It looked uncannily like George W. Bush. Next, I looked at B 115. It was a dead ringer for a smoke ring. Then, I sketched B 542 in Ursa Minor. It glowed, rather like dandruff on black satin pajamas. Next, I added to my logbook B 619. It was even more difficult than whipped cream.
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 sitting in a dentist's waiting room.