Look up. Really look up. If you catch it in those grey pre-dawn hours of July 11.
The moon is thin. Barely there. A waning crescent with only 15% light left on its face. It’s slipping past the Pleiades. People call it the Seven Sisters. Astronomers label it M45. Either name works for this specific, fleeting handshake in the sky.
You need to face east-north-east. London view. 3 AM BST.
The sky will already be waking up. Brightening against your eyes. So find a spot with a dead-low horizon. Clear visibility is the only thing standing between you and missing this entirely.
The moon gives it away. Pointing its lit edge straight down at the ground. Just off its dark side hangs that tight smudge of stars. To the naked eye it looks like a tiny, inverted Plough. Don’t be fooled by the name “Seven Sisters”. Most of us only count six.
Need to see the rest? Binoculars solve that problem instantly. They reveal dozens more stars packed into that small patch.
Mars is hiding nearby. Lower down in Taurus. The Bull.
It’s faint. Harder to pick out in that racing brightness. Worth it? Sure. Just don’t expect easy marks.
If you’re south of the equator the show still happens. Taurus just rises in the northeast there instead.
So when’s the last time you checked the sky at three in the morning?
