Comet-hunting often means going it alone. In the quiet dark of a sleeping house, I slip out of bed well before dawn, careful not to wake anyone, and make my way up the creaking stairs into the loft.
At the top, I ease open the door and reach for the window. The latch clicks, the frame shifts — and suddenly a rush of cold air floods in. It's enough to wake me instantly. I pull on a winter coat, shut the door behind me to keep the warmth below, and lean out into the stillness.
