the signal fire of Antares
I have a favorite star.
Maybe, as an amateur astronomer, I’m expected to value all stars equally, but I don’t. While I enjoy any available star field, Antares holds a special place for me.
Over on Sky & Telescope a few years ago, I wrote about why I always look forward to the return of this bright orange star in the night sky. Antares is the heart of my “native” constellation of Scorpius, and it figured prominently in a stranger’s generous act of comfort when I was a child. I carry its positive and reassuring associations with me still.
Really, what it amounts to is that when I spot Antares in the sky, I see myself amongst the stars, and I feel seen in return. There’s a quiet electricity that runs through me which is equal parts excitement over the appearance of such an extraordinary and beautiful celestial object and the subtle thrill of personal validation.
It’s a hell of a thing to be acknowledged, fully and truly, especially in a society which at best undervalues the contributions and often even the existence of people who are disabled, neurodivergent, and/or otherwise affected by chronic conditions and illness. It would be a true joy to be recognized for who we are, rather than for how we present. More often, we are dismissed or forgotten — or worse, penalized for the burden of our being.
A far-away star can’t grant me any kind of status, positive or negative, on this planet or any other. Its bright orange twinkling has no curative impact on what ails me. If it did, I wouldn’t hesitate in an earnest effort to give myself over to whatever scientific scholarship or mysticism was required.
But somehow, from 550 light years away, Antares reminds me of my worth, the kind only I can give myself. Its color and brilliance are a beacon, a visual Siren, that act as a signal fire to the soul. I am here, now. I am alive. It’s up to me to claim and occupy my space in this world, however I can.
A few nights ago, I spotted Antares for the first time this year. It was during a commercial break for Stephen Colbert’s very last Late Show episode, and I stepped out onto the porch to check the sky. The blazing orange star had just cleared the SE horizon of trees, and was sliding toward more tall foliage in a neighbor’s yard. Antares sits fairly low on the horizon here in Oregon, and it’s often a challenge to get a clear view of it this early in the season.
This is the star I will sacrifice sleep for. I will drag my equipment around the yard, up and down the driveway, and with both luck and stamina, out to a darker sky site for the best views and image capture. I will revisit old stories and seek out ancient myths about this slow irregular variable star and its host constellation — and the legends are many. Antares has fascinated for millennia and was cataloged by Babylonian observers, in ancient Mesopotamia, in ancient Persia and China, and by the Maori and people of Hawaii. Even today, Antares appears on the Brazilian flag.
As before, the rising of this star finds me weary but aware. Another year has past. Another year of work and pain, and also of laughter and joy. Maybe this is how I mark my time now, with the cycles of this distant ball of fire. There are worse measurements. Between now and mid-October, when Antares will set until it’s visible again next year, I will revel in its orange light.
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IMAGES
1. 03193_starscape_3840x2160, by Drifta Beatz
2. Antares, M4, and NGC 6144, as imaged from Portland, Oregon, on 8 July 2025 by Jennifer Willis.