There are a lot of things I like about REM’s music, but their word nightswimming I love the most. And August is the time for nightswimming.

You know that feeling when you step from an air conditioned space out into the wild dark of a summer night. The air is like velvet as the humidity wraps itself around your cool skin. The songs of crickets pulse. Tiny nocturnal beasts rustle around the garden. Stars seem to breathe. You want to dive into the darkness and glide around for a while, discovering things that have been hidden from us all along under the shadowy depths. Nightswimming.

This August the nights came slowly, the sky taking its sweet time to dim. The cicadas, the snowy tree crickets, the katydids turned up their volume as the moon brightened. In the sky, Jupiter and Saturn raced each other while Mars and Venus pretended not to notice. But in the end, the normally shy Northern Lights grew bold, rightfully stealing the celestial show. Shimmering. Astounding. Nightswimming. 

This summer’s stars felt especially lovely as photos from the James Webb Space Telescope filtered down to Earth. “The Southern Ring Nebula,” “Stephan’s Quintent,” and “‘Cosmic Cliffs’ in Carina” were so stunning they caused more than one scientist to weep. We will, no doubt, spend years nightswimming in these images of our universe. Because, as Neil deGrasse Tyson said, “Every one of our body’s atoms is traceable to the big bang… We are stardust brought to life, then empowered by the universe to figure itself out- and we have only just begun.”

Our new backyard does not have a dog-proof fence and walking our dog, Ruth, at night has become one of my favorite routines. While she sniffs every invisible trail, I study the moon and wonder about gray treefrogs. Because of our nightswimming, I now know how loud bats are. I now know that snowy tree crickets exist. I now know there is a family of rabbits living in the backyard and a raccoon that frequents our next door neighbors’ oak tree. 

August days are relentless. In this land where winter rules, the heat and humidity of late summer is overwhelming. And in August my kids become restless with their freedom and full of sass. The fruit fly clouds accumulating over our bowls of ripe tomatoes and peaches grow thick and the house feels coated in sweat. In the daylight blaze of the sun we’ve forgotten we’re made of stardust. 

Thankfully, each bright August day the sun sets. And following the sunset is a hush. The evening breeze winds its way through the kitchen windows and the dust of the day clears. The lightning bugs begin to flash their bioluminescent stardust-brought-to-life-selves and Ruth and I set out for some nightswimming.  

On August nights it’s easier to remember our veins carry stardust.