The Skies of Spring Equinox
The time of growing light (also, why I chose my username)
We have reached another marker of the year. This is the place where night and day are equal, and from now on, the days will get longer, the nights shorter. This means less time for stargazing, but more time to appreciate the longer days. I am looking forward to it-warmth and evening walks after work, and the sight of blossom and merry flowers, the birdsong getting louder, and the pungent scent of wild garlic.
There are two equinoxes per year-one in March and another in September. The March one marks spring in the northern hemisphere and autumn in the southern hemisphere. In fact, the equinox is, like the solstice, a specific moment, when the Sun crosses the celestial equator, which is our planet’s equator projected into space. This is when the Earth is tilted in such a way that neither hemisphere points towards the Sun, and both are in balance, thus equalising the days and nights all across the world. In 2025, this moment takes place at exactly 9.01 GMT on 20 March.
According to some traditions, the equinox marks mid-spring, and in others it marks the start of spring. In some cultures, it marks a new year, such as in such as in Persian and Kurdish communities where it is known as Nowruz. The Christian Easter and the Jewish Passover are timed according to the occurrence of the first full moon after the spring equinox. And there are ancient monuments around the world that are built as solar calendars and some of them mark the equinoxes. The most spectacular of these is located in Mexico, in the historic Maya city of Chichen Itza, founded in the 5th century CE. The central pyramid is oriented towards the equinox sun in such a way that it causes a zigzagging shadow to slink down the pyramid’s side as the day progresses, giving the impression of a snake moving down the monument, representing the serpent god Kukulcan.
It seems the land celebrates in spring-daffodils trumpet outwards, the first blossoms speckle the trees, hares box in the meadows, birds begin to fly back north in larger numbers. Leaves are bursting from their buds among catkins, and the days feel more pleasant and one is tempted to replace their big coat with something lighter, even though winter weather is cruel sometimes and can fight back. More often than not, spring’s milder, kinder weather has the upper hand these days.
At this time of renewed vigour and energy, I think about how maybe us stargazers can rise up and use astronomy to perhaps change the status quo…
Stargazing is Rebellious
Or, why urban stargazing is rebellious (but shouldn’t be)
How can stargazing be rebellious? Surely it’s one of the gentlest, most unobtrusive things one can do? It’s just looking up the stars. Nothing subversive about that. One can’t ‘start a revolution’ by simply gazing at the night sky, right? Well, most think that rebellion is about causing a ruckus, being intentionally disruptive, even a bit violent. Think noisy uprisings and vandalism. But rebellion comes in quieter, unassuming and peaceful forms. Acts that make minimal fuss, but attract attention. Think of the people who have used non-violence as a means of making change. Also, how about how the arts have been used as a means of peaceful protest and a call to change what is clearly broken in the world. What if stargazing could also do that?
As of now, light pollution is rising globally with no signs of slowing down, and the numbers of satellites streaking across the sky is going up to levels where they will greatly outnumber the visible stars. Some say that this decade might be the last one to really enjoy the night sky. Sounds alarmist, but if the amount of outdoor artificial lighting increases without regulation, and near-earth space gets cluttered with synthetic constellations of orbiting junk getting in the way of the real constellations, then it looks bleak. There are a lot of dark sky initiatives making a difference, but many seem to concentrate on areas that are already rural and remote to begin with, rather than fixing the over-lighting of our highly populated areas (while taking safety and security into account, which can be done with conscious and thoughtful types of lighting). It’s those who live in cities that are in dire need of starlight, I think. Light pollution is pretty terrible for our health. It is even worse for other animals and plants, and not just nocturnal ones. And yet, as far as I know, there are no uprisings, no protests, to save our dark skies. At the Restore Nature Now protest in London last year, only one person I saw there had a banner highlighting dark skies for nocturnal nature.
Do we need a dark skies version of Greta Thunberg? Or Extinction Rebellion? I do not recommend that people should go to extremes by vandalising street lights or power stations (seriously please don’t! I can’t and don’t want to be held responsible for any acts of that sort…) but I do think we need to be a bit more vocal about this subtle threat to nature. You can begin by following accounts of people and organisations who are champions of dark skies, and those who espouse ethical space exploration and use of outer space in a way that isn’t exploitative or extractive-I recommend following Kosmica for more on this topic. You could also write to your councillor to get them to reduce light pollution in your area.
The idea of stargazing being a form of quiet rebellion comes from a wider discussion about paying attention to nature as a whole as being a form of quiet rebellion. Because, for some reason, it can sometimes attract the wrong kind of attention and questioning from certain people, because it’s not ‘the norm’. Why? Because it goes against what ‘should’ be done in this modern, consumerist world of ours. A time of hyper-immediacy and over-productivity. And a lot of looking down. Looking down constantly at little screens in our hands. Looking down at ourselves, lowering our self-esteem and how we feel in the world. And looking down on others, as though they are less than us.
So look up instead of down. I look up at the trees as their leaves unfurl. To see what birds are singing. I look up to other people who uplift me, and elevate them further through kind words and acts. And I look up at the stars. In the city. Yes, in the city.
Recently I gave myself a goal for my travels-to visit at least once place per year that has a dark sky. I love going to far off places, finally away from the light pollution, but I also wish I could just stride into my garden and see an unblemished night sky. For a city dweller, this never happens. Moreover, most sites and books about astronomy and stargazing say that you need to get away from light pollution to stargaze effectively, subtly implying that ‘if you live in a city, maybe don’t bother taking up stargazing as a hobby.’ I went against this advice and looked up from my window, from my garden, above the haze of sodium orange and LED grey, whenever skies were clear. Even if I sometimes had a gnawing feeling inside, a little voice in my head saying that the very act of stargazing in light pollution is almost hypocritical and futile. But rebelling means going against those voices, internal and external.
Urban stargazing, on the face of it, sounds like an oxymoron. I even came up with an analogy: stargazing in a city is like taking a vegetarian to a steakhouse. The only options on the menu are the one vegan dish, chips and salad.1 Likewise, for a city stargazer, the only things they can look at are the moon, the planets, and a handful of stars. Certainly not the Milky Way or the array of other galaxies and deep sky objects.
Even so, I feel that urban stargazing is as important, and maybe more so, as doing it somewhere rural and sparsely illuminated. I feel that the idea that you can only stargaze in the darkest of locations, which can occasionally come off as a kind of ‘dark sky snobbery’, could be putting city dwellers off stargazing. Sure, they hear on the news about an exciting meteor shower or planetary conjunction, but the newsreader then says to ‘get as far away from city lights as possible’. But what if it isn’t possible?
London, where I live, has the worst light pollution in the UK. But even there, if you go to a park (exercising caution of course, I don’t recommend going alone to a park at night) or are lucky enough to have a garden without exposure to streetlights, then you might be able to see more than you expect. My garden faces away from the street and the walls are far apart enough to not block the skies too much. It’s not perfect (a lot of people opposite don’t have curtains and leave their lights on all night) but I don’t have a bad view for a city. I can see asterisms like the Plough and the Square of Pegasus, and even the Pleiades. I can see constellations like Cassiopeia and Cygnus, Leo and Gemini, and of course Orion. In fact, just looking up in random parts of the city, even highly built up areas, has yielded surprises. Such as seeing the aurora borealis over St Pauls, or a very bright shooting star zipping over a brightly lit street.
Thankfully I am not alone. There are other people in cities who do look up at the sky, and friendly places to meet like minded souls who do the same. I would say joining an astronomy group or visiting a meeting of an astronomy group is essential for budding stargazers who don’t have access to a garden or a balcony with a clear view of the sky, who feel uncomfortable being in the city at night on their own, or who want to know exactly what to look for. If you are like me and find social gatherings daunting, then I can say from experience, do not worry. I find that astronomy gatherings have the friendliest people, and they will be willing to share their telescopes, or point out amazing things to see in the sky. London has the wonderful Baker Street Irregular Astronomers with their free monthly meetings in Regent’s Park.
By stargazing in the face of light pollution, we can work to improve our lighting situation-it shines a light (pun intended) on what needs changing. If there were fewer lights, or better lighting that doesn’t spill into the sky, or if less useful lights were switched off, then we could see even more. Ok, seeing the Milky Way from a large town or city is probably impossible. But if we can reduce the pall of artificial light, we’ll be able to see more fainter stars, lesser known constellations, and rare events like comets and auroras, at the very least. And a darker sky has a lot more benefits than just for those interested in astronomy-for one thing, it’ll do the plants and animals we share our home with a world of good. It’s a step in the right direction, and might help us heal our fractured relationship with this planet-and beyond-as a whole.
So what can you see if you look up around this time? Here’s a short guide to the early spring skies. At this time of year, you can see the winter constellations in the early evening before spring ones take their place. For those with telescopes and dark skies, look out for galaxies in Leo and Virgo-‘tis the season! The nights are warming up, even if they are getting shorter as days lengthen.
The Moon
We have had a full Moon already, which in some parts of the world (primarily the Americas) experienced a lunar eclipse. An easier lunar eclipse to see for Europe, Asia and Africa will be in September (ie, it will be in the evening here in the UK). March’s Full Moon has many wonderful names, including Sap Moon, Lenten Moon, Chaste Moon, Worm Moon and Crow Moon. It is also called Plough Moon, because of this being a time when farmers plough their fields. But Lia Leendertz, in her excellent 2025 almanac, hints at a stellar origin of the name: this is when Ursa Major, where the seven stars of the Plough are found, is highest in the sky. The Moon can never pass into this circumpolar constellation far from the ecliptic, but at this time of year, the Plough Moon is below the Plough stars.
On the 29th, there will be a solar eclipse. It’ll be partial rather than total, and can be seen across Western Europe and northeastern North America. In the UK it will take place around 10am-12pm, with maximum coverage at about 11am. The New Moon will appear to ‘take a bite’ out of the Sun as it passes in front. If you want to observe it, DO NOT LOOK AT THE SUN WITHOUT PROTECTION. You must use solar eclipse glasses or a certified solar filter. Definitely not sunglasses! Alternatively, you can watch indirectly by projecting the Sun onto a screen or a sheet of paper with a pinhole camera or even a pair of binoculars or a telescope casting the Sun’s image onto the screen. Just don’t be tempted to look through optical equipment or you will burn your eyeballs…you have been warned.
On the early morning of the equinox, the Moon is at waning gibbous, and will rise near to Antares, the Heart of the Scorpion, brightest star of the Scorpio constellation. It stays low in the sky from the UK but the star’s colour marks it out. That’s becasuse it is a red supergiant, like Orion’s Betelgeuse, and could be considered the ‘Anti-Betelgeuse’ as when one of the two constellations is visible, the other is below the horizon.2
Planets
Sadly, the planet parade is coming to a close. Venus has moved out of the dusk sky, so after a long time gracing our evenings, the planet is about to become a morning star from April. At equinox, Venus is pretty much conjunct the Sun so extremely difficult to see.
Mars may be getting fainter but it still looks like a bright red star, and it makes a satisfying triangle with the twin stars of Gemini, Castor and Pollux.
Jupiter is still unmistakeable and bright, now the brightest celestial body in the sky after the Sun and Moon. It is in the ‘horns’ of Taurus, and above Orion. If you have binoculars or a telescope, keep an eye on the position of the planet’s four moons and where they are.
Stars and constellations
This is a great time to view the Great Bear, Ursa Major, as the constellation touches the zenith at this time. (It might mean a lot of neck ache from looking directly up though!) This constellation is famous because of the seven bright stars located on the bear’s backside, making the shape of a spoon or saucepan. This is the Plough, or Big Dipper in the US.3 Often the Plough is mistaken for the Bear as a whole but Ursa Major has a lot more stars, even if they are fainter.
The Plough isn’t just distinctive and well known, it’s also a very useful way of finding other stars in the sky. It can be used to find Polaris, but at this time of year, it can also be helpful in finding two bright stars that shine bright on the warming nights of spring. If you draw a line from the last of the three stars making up the bear’s elongated tail, following the bend of that tail, you will eventually land on a very bright star. You have just done the ‘arc to Arcturus’! This brilliant spring beacon rises in the evening, and glows with a warm amber light that is almost like a torch or lantern bearing the promise of balmy weather and longer days. Arcturus is the main star in the constellation Boötes, which is the only constellation with an umlaut in its name!4 This group of stars represents a herdsman, and looks a bit like a crooked kite.
Then keep following the line you made from the tail of Ursa Major a way from Arcturus, until you reach the next bright star. You have just ‘sped to Spica’. This is the brightest star in Virgo, the largest constellation in the zodiac, and the second largest in the whole sky. Now compare it with Arcturus. Do you notice a colour difference? While Arcturus is orange toned, Spica is blue white. This is because it’s a much hotter star, and in stars, blue is hotter than red (the opposite of our household taps, where blue means cold!) I like to think of the colours of these two stars as reminiscent of spring flowers. Arcturus being the daffodil with golden petals and an orange centre, and Spica being more like a forget-me-not or bluebell colour.
Arcturus and Spica form part of a large asterism known as the Spring Triangle, with the other vertex being marked by Regulus in Leo, which is another prominent constellation at this time. If your skies are dark, try finding Hydra, and also Corvus the Crow, which is rather low in the southern skies but whose stars make a prominent quadrilateral shape. This constellation is found to the right of Spica.
On April Fool’s Day, the crescent Moon will approach and occult the Pleiades cluster as they set in the evening. March and early April are when you have your last good view of the winter constellations, so if like me you are a big fan of those stars, make the most of them before they leave for their ‘annual vacation’. Only Gemini (along with Mars), Auriga and Canis Minor will linger a bit longer into May.
Wishing you all a refreshing and illuminating spring equinox, when the flowers below mirror the stars above.
Speaking as a vegetarian myself!
The name Antares means ‘Rival of Mars’, thanks to its ruddy glow.
For other names associated with this famous asterism, check out my previous article about Ursa Major.
It’s pronounced ‘bo-oh-tes’
This was an incredible read - thank you for sharing your dark starry wisdom. 🖤
Fantastic read again. Easy to follow and so informative.