As I drove up the winding road to my secret observing location, I idly mused upon the subtle beauty of astrology as I contemplated the ominous thunderheads on the horizon. When I arrived at the parking lot, it was filled with friends eager for a night's observing. I counted at least 39 telescopes set up.
I started my night's observing with one of my favorite objects, M 54. It seemed almost Miss Piggy. With that checked off my list, I nudged my telescope to B 444. It appeared at low power like a faint puff of nothingness, with a suspected, but not confirmed, central star. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I studied NGC 5425. It was easy, just like a swarm of bees. After that, I found by accident Abell 43. It took me back to the first time I saw Smokey the Bear. With that checked off my list, I showed some guests M 95. It was a dead ringer for cream being swirled into hot coffee. After that, I nudged my telescope to Abell 35. It glowed, rather like two scoops of spumoni ice cream. Then, I glimpsed M 49. It seemed almost the clouds I'd seen earlier. After I'd spent a few minutes looking at that, I studied Abell 91. It was like its Hubble photograph. Then, I added to my logbook Abell 48. It appeared as black pearls on flocked paper.
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 hunting with the Vice President.