"The Sky Is Broken"

Saturday morning, I bunched and bundled laundry for the wash. Then put the hampers in the car, started the ignition, flipped on the radio and inserted a CD. For a few seconds, I caught the local NPR station. It struck me that it didn't sound like "Whad Ya' Know?"

After lunch, I again turned on the radio, and this time I was certain it was not the usual NPR programming. Instead of "The Metropolitian Opera," it was a special news report. It took me a few minutes to realize that something had happened to the space shuttle.

Once home, I quickly turned on the TV and switched back and forth through the channels looking for the latest coverage. I continued to watch, and within a few minutes President Bush made his address.

As I sat, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. One that I suppose you feel with any catastrophe. But in another way the feeling was more acute. It may be because space exploration had become a unique part of the American psyche. Or it may be the singular nature of the event, death on the fringes of space.

This will, no doubt, become another one in a long chain of events, in which you will always remember where and when you heard the news.

Yesterday morning, as usual, I was listening on the web to John in the Morning of KEXP in Seattle. Without fanfare, he played a series of pieces about space. My knowledge of some of the artists was limited. But I recognized one cut as being from Moby's "Play" CD. A glance at the playlist told me it was titled "The Sky Is Broken." A fitting title for a sad day.

PAX!