Evenlength

Soon, winter's long icy chill loosened its hold.  Mrs. Whimbrel had taken down the doily Valentine's Day hearts pasted around the room, along with the bright Mardi Gras beads dangling from the ceiling.  With each passing day, P. Martin thought more about Uncle Scout, wondered when he might return, and what stories he'd recount.  He couldn't wait to tell him about his new friend, Skye, and how he'd lived in Mexico, seen clusters of Monarchs clouding the skies, and had traveled to some of the same places they'd been to.    

And, to top it all, he'd say, Skye loves traveling at night, something
P. Martin discovered that the morning Mrs. Whimbrel wrote "even length" on the board.  

"You won't be needing your dictionaries," she'd said.  "It's one of those words that hasn't been used for a long, long time."

The second hand on the clock ticked like a metronome, measuring the steady beat of classroom silence.  "Think," she said.  "Evenlength."

Tick.  Tick.  Tick.  Then, in an instant, it dawned on P. Martin.   Evenlength -- something the same on both sides.  Symmetrical.  He waved his arm at the exact time Skye raised his.

Naturally, Mrs. Whimbrel called on Skye first.  "The seasons," Skye had said.

"Go on."

"It's the equinox," P. Martin interrupted.  His anxiousness about Uncle Scott's return had him looking at the calendar every day.  "Today is the vernal equinox!" 

"Not bad, Master P. Martin," Mrs. Whimbrel said, then corrected him for breaking Classroom Rule Number 1:  "Do not speak until called upon."  

"Sorry," he said.  His face flushed, and he could feel an itch creeping up his body.

"But he's right," Skye said.  "It's when night and day are the same length.  Happens only twice a year."

"And when is the other time?" Mrs. Whimbrel asked, standing by his desk.

"That's easy," Skye said, matter-of-fact.  "The autumnal equinox; they're the two times in the year when when the ecliptic line intersects the equator."

P. Martin turned and smiled at Skye, liking him all the more.  For the first time all year, Mrs. Whimbrel's had been stunned into silence.  The ecliptic line:  twelve constellations (thirteen if you count Ophiuchus) wrapped around the earth like a star-studded belt, something Uncle Scout had taught him.  

http://earthsky.org/space/what-is-the-ecliptic   




  

made time fly.  And, before he knew it, the long winter months gave way to spring.