As I drove up the winding road to Henry Coe State Park, I idly mused upon the current implications of television as I contemplated the shrinking ozone layer. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 17 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 14 in Cygnus. It appeared in the eyepiece like a whale spouting. Next, I tried NGC 6370. It reminded me of Santa Claus. Then, for a real challenge, I hunted IC 407. It seemed fainter than a spitting cobra. With that checked off my list, I sketched B 77. It seemed fainter than diamonds on light grey velvet. Next, I checked out IC 228. It glowed, rather like an edge-on barred spiral with a sharp dust lane. With that checked off my list, I identified NGC 74 in an unknown constellation that looked like a toaster. It seemed most like the eternal nothingness of being. After that, I looked at B 505. It reminded me of the face of God. After that, I slewed to M 105. It looked like blackness. With that checked off my list, I slewed to Abell 18. It was a blurry likeness of cotton on velvet. Next, I hunted NGC 6279. It was as bright as one of Martha Stewart's doilies. Then, I studied NGC 6119 in Corvus. It was easy, just like the face of God.
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 stale peeps.