From the high tower of Scarlet Ridge Observatory, this day of August the twenty-fifth, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-one, the eye beholds a landscape suspended between light and s…
From the high tower of Scarlet Ridge, the heavens this night present a tableau of cold, solemn clarity. At the fourth hour, the sky, though touched by a scarce 22% of wandering cloud, is dominated by …
From the high tower of Scarlet Ridge, beneath a sky veiled in but forty-one parts of cloud, the waning wax of the gibbous moon casts a spectral silver upon the mist-wreathed shoulders of the Carpathia…
From my perch at Scarlet Ridge Observatory, the Carpathians lie before me in a state of uneasy repose. The sky, though partly sunlit, is beset by a heavy veil of clouds that cling to the summits like …
From my lofty perch at Scarlet Ridge Observatory, the Carpathians lie in a preternatural hush, as if the very mountains hold their breath. At the tenth hour, a pale sun struggles through a veil of clo…
From the lofty vantage of Scarlet Ridge Observatory, the hour of four in the morning reveals a sky of crystalline clarity, yet the heavens are but half adorned with stars, for a veil of cloud, some fo…