Fencing heaven

Good fences make good neighbors, goes the New England adage.

"Something there is that doesn't love a wall," counters America's foremost poet, Robert Frost.

The flinty New Englander knew there were times when his feet marched to some deeper call. Then he wanted to follow the heart's tug over hill and field, wood, and meadow. Neighbors corralling cattle just might fence off themselves, he mused.

Lately, when I walk down a street late at night, Frost's sentiment echoes in the hum of the overhead fluorescent bulb: "Something there is that doesn't love a street lamp." Just as a fence confines a walk, streetlights bridle the eyes.

Straight ahead and side-to-side, the candescent glow offers a measure of safety. But at what price above? The heavens stoop to 30 feet.

The thousands of street lights in our towns and the hundreds of thousands in our cities rob the night of its jewels, the imagination of eternity, and the heart of its bonds with a conscious universe.

This summer, Connecticut became the first state to require almost all of its 189,000 street lamps to install "full-cutoff" fixtures that prevent light from glaring sideways or up into the sky.

The law requires the state Department of Transportation to choose replacement lights that minimize glare as old ones wear out. It will take 15 to 20 years for the artificial glow to retreat from the state's skies.

Eventually, street corner by street corner, the heavens will brighten as street lamps dim.

San Diego; Tempe, Ariz.; and Fauquier County, Va., are a few of the localities that have passed regulations designed to fight light pollution, on taking back the night.

Dark skies make eternity the neighbor upstairs.