Twice within 12 hours I’ve been surprised by heavenly bodies. Well, not completely surprised. I knew each time that there was a sun or a moon in the sky. But surprised in that I wasn’t expecting to glimpse them when I did, and that perhaps because of this — or perhaps not — I was swept away.

Last night I walked in perfect air, perfect temperature, a glorious midsummer evening. I admired the light as I walked east, thought about how fetchingly it struck the great old oaks and maples, how beautifully it bathed our neighborhood.

But when I reached the other end of Folkstone, I caught my breath. There was the sun, the source of all this beauty. Even though I’d been walking in its light the whole way I’d somehow forgotten. And there it was, the setting sun.

This morning it was the moon that surprised me. I hadn’t realized it was almost full, and still up, when I took my early walk. Once again, a turn to the west took my breath away. The globe was suspended in a sky of pale blue, centered between banks of trees. A spectacular sight. A morning treat.

It is, perhaps, a sign of my discombobulation, these heavenly surprises. But maybe not. Maybe it’s just natural beauty at work.