A few days ago, under a clear and generous sky, I pointed my telescope at three regions of the firmament that, although distant from one another, seemed to respond like verses of the same cosmic poem. Today I want to share not only the images I captured, but also what they whispered to me as I revealed them, pixel by pixel, like someone unveiling an ancient secret.
M15: The Ancient Swarm That Still Shines
M15 isn't a galaxy, but a globular cluster: a compact sphere of stars orbiting the halo of our own galaxy, the Milky Way. It's located in the constellation Pegasus and is one of the densest clusters we know of.
Observing M15 is like gazing at an ancient jewel, carved by time. Its stars are so close together that, at the center, the density is such that the presence of a black hole is suspected. And yet, from here, what we see is a soft, almost maternal glow.
It's a reminder that old doesn't mean dull. That there is wisdom in accumulation, and beauty in permanence. That even in the most ancient corners of the cosmos, light still finds its way to us.
NGC 925: The Spiral That Dances with Asymmetry
NGC 925 is a barred spiral galaxy in the constellation Triangulum, about 30 million light-years away. But beyond the numbers, what captivated me was its shape: it's not a perfect spiral, but a slightly off-kilter dance, as if the universe had decided to improvise a choreography.
Its arms unfurl with an irregular grace, as if in perpetual motion, reminding us that beauty doesn't always reside in symmetry, but in life that dares to deviate from the mold. At its core, a luminous bar seems to hold the balance of the entire structure, like the heart of an idea still taking shape.
Looking at it is like reading a letter written millions of years ago, where each trace of light is a word still traveling toward us.
NGC 891: The Thinness of a Universe in Profile
NGC 891, in the constellation Andromeda, is a spiral galaxy seen edge-on. To the naked eye, it appears as a line of light suspended in the darkness, but upon closer inspection, it reveals itself as a complex structure, bisected by a dark band of interstellar dust that divides it like a scar.
It's impossible not to reflect on the fragility of things when observing a galaxy like this. Seen head-on, it would be a majestic spiral; Seen edge-on, it's an almost invisible line. How many wonders do we miss simply because they aren't facing us?
NGC 891 reminded me that perspective is everything. That even what seems thin, fragile, or insignificant can contain billions of stars, stories, possibilities.
