The Moon passes through the bull tonight. The bull’s “eye” – the star Aldebaran – is off to the left of the Moon. The bull’s face and shoulder are even closer, represented by a pair of star clusters – the Hyades and the Pleiades. For the most part, you can’t tell the distance to an astronomical object just by its appearance. Something that looks quite bright might be close, but it might also be far away and especially bright. But you can tell something about the distances to the objects around the Moon tonight by their appearance. The Pleiades looks like a tiny dipper close below the Moon. It contains hundreds of young stars, some of which are hot and bright. But the cluster’s small size is a good indication of its distance – almost 450 light-years. The Hyades looks bigger. It forms a letter V that outlines the bull’s face. It looks a good bit more spread out than the Pleiades. But that’s largely because it’s only a third as distant. Aldebaran stands at the top left point of the V. It outshines all the other points. In part, that’s because it’s less than half as far – just 65 light-years away. So these prominent features really do tell us something about their distances. One other bright light stands directly below the Moon in early evening, and it’s the brightest of all: Venus, the “evening star.” Right now, it’s closer to us than anything else except the Moon. Script by Damond Benningfield

You might want to have the butter and the Mrs. Butterworth’s handy for this one – it’s all about pancakes. Some of them are as big as a major city. There are only two problems: They’re made out of dense volcanic rock, and they’re on the planet Venus. Venus is covered with many thousands of volcanic features – lava plains, cone-shaped mountains, and structures that look like crowns and spiders. Most of the features are old, but there are hints that the planet is still volcanically active today. The list of features includes pancake domes. There are scores of them – some by themselves, but many in groups. They’re almost perfectly round and flat. They can be up to a few dozen miles across, and more than half a mile tall. And their edges are steep – almost-sheer cliffs. The domes probably formed when thick molten rock bubbled to the surface. It spread out in all directions. And it continued to spread well after the lava spigot was turned off. A study published last year said that some of the pancakes dented the surface below them – perhaps one reason they’re so flat. That dimple created a moat around one of the domes, with a raised rim around the moat – a good arrangement for catching all that butter and syrup. Venus is the brilliant “evening star.” It’s quite close to the crescent Moon this evening. The Moon will stand above the planet tomorrow night; more about that on our next program. Script by Damond Benningfield

There’s a frustrating meeting of planets in the early morning sky right now. It’s frustrating because the planets are quite low in the sky in the dawn twilight, so they’re hard to see. The participants in this meet-up are Mercury, Mars, and Saturn. Tomorrow, they’ll form a tight triangle. They’ll form a straight line on Monday before they begin to separate. Mercury is the brightest of the trio, followed by Saturn, then Mars. The planets aren’t actually anywhere close to each other – they just happen to line up in the same direction. Mercury is the closest, at a distance of a bit more than a hundred million miles. Mars is more than twice that far. And Saturn is farther still – almost a billion miles. Mercury is making a small loop across the dawn before dropping back into the solar glare. It’s the closest planet to the Sun, so it never moves far from the Sun in our sky. That means our chances to see it are limited. Mars and Saturn are farther from the Sun than Earth is, so they move all the way across the sky. Both are slowly working higher into the dawn. As the months pass, they’ll rise earlier and remain in view longer. For now, Mercury, Mars, and Saturn are quite low in the east as twilight paints the sky. They’re tough to see, especially from farther north. From the U.S., the best views are from places like Miami and Honolulu. The best place to watch the meet-up is the southern hemisphere. Script by Damond Benningfield

Every time that two or more planets congregate in the night sky, fear mongers crank up the volume on their predictions of doom. They say the combined gravity of the planets will cause everything from earthquakes and storms to boils and hangnails. Don’t listen to them. All of the planets are so small or so far away that their short-term effects on Earth are negligible. Jupiter, the largest and heaviest planet in the solar system, is only one-tenth of one percent as massive as the Sun. And, on average, it’s about five times farther. When combined, those numbers tell us that Jupiter’s gravitational tug on Earth is just one-25,000th as strong as the Sun’s. The pull of the other planets is even weaker. So even if you lined up all of the planets in the same direction from Earth, their combined pull would be insignificant. That’s not the case on longer terms, though. The gravity of Jupiter and Venus change the shape of Earth’s orbit and the planet’s tilt on its axis. Mars may play a role as well. That influence creates cycles of warmer and colder climate. But the cycles play out over tens of thousands of years or longer – not over days, weeks, or even centuries. Planetary alignments are common. In fact, there’s one right now. Mars, Saturn, and Mercury are close together in the dawn twilight. But they’re so low in the sky that they’re tough to see. We’ll have more about their alignment tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield

The Coma galaxy cluster is like a cosmic iceberg. What you see is impressive. But what you don’t see is even more impressive. The cluster is centered more than 300 million light-years away, and it spans 25 million light-years. It contains thousands of individual galaxies. Many of them are far bigger and heavier than our own galaxy, the Milky Way. But in the 1930s, German astronomer Fritz Zwicky found something odd. He measured the motions of individual galaxies within the cluster. They were zipping along much too fast to be held in check by the gravity of the visible galaxies – they should all fly away from each other. Zwicky concluded that something else was acting as a sort of gravitational “glue.” He called it dark matter – matter that couldn’t be seen, but that exerted a gravitational pull on the visible matter around it. It took decades to confirm that finding. And even today, we don’t know what dark matter really is. The leading idea says it’s some type of subatomic particle. But despite many years of searching, no such particle has been found. All we know for sure is that dark matter accounts for about 85 percent of all the matter in the universe – the vast hidden depths of the cosmic iceberg. The Coma Cluster is in Coma Berenices. The constellation is in the east at nightfall. It’s above brilliant Arcturus, the brightest star of Bootes, and to the lower left of Leo, the lion. Script by Damond Benningfield

Astronomers love star clusters. All the stars in a cluster were born at the same time, from the same cloud of gas and dust. So any differences in the stars are the result of their evolution, which is a result of their mass. That makes it easier to learn what’s going on inside the stars. One problem, though, is identifying which stars belong to a cluster. It takes detailed measurements of motion and brightness to separate members of the cluster from stars that just happen to line up in the same direction. An example is the Coma star cluster, in Coma Berenices. The constellation is in the east at nightfall. Under dark skies, the cluster is a good target for binoculars. The cluster is about 280 light-years away. But it spans dozens of light-years, so its stars are spread out. That makes it harder to pick out its members. And it takes big telescopes to pick out its fainter stars. So despite decades of study, astronomers are still locking down the census of stars in the Coma cluster. A study about a decade ago confirmed eight small, faint members – the first of their kind known to belong to the cluster. And another study found that about a quarter of the stars in the cluster are binary or multi-star systems. These discoveries bring the total number of stars in the Coma cluster to several dozen, with a few dozen more possibilities – members of a wide-spread stellar family. More about Coma Berenices tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield

The long-lost tail of the lion climbs high across the sky at this time of year – a spray of faint stars that trails behind Leo. Today, it’s known as Coma Berenices – the hair of Queen Berenice II of Egypt. It’s the only modern constellation that represents a real person. Originally, though, it was the tuft of hair at the end of the lion’s tail. The stars came to represent Berenice about 2300 years ago. The story was invented by the court astronomer to the king of Egypt, Ptolemy III. The queen had left her beatiful locks in a temple – an offering to the gods to protect her husband, who was off at war. The hair disappeared, angering the king. So the astronomer told him that the gods had whisked the offering into the sky. But to most of the western world, the stars remained part of Leo for centuries longer. They didn’t become a separate constellation until the 1500s, when they were named for Berenice. Coma Berenices isn’t easy to find. All of its stars are faint, so you need especially dark skies to see them. Its brightest star is Beta Coma. It’s a near twin to the Sun – a little bit bigger, heavier, and brighter. Yet even it isn’t visible from light-polluted cities or suburbs. The constellation is well up in the east at nightfall. It’s above brilliant Arcturus, the brightest star of Bootes, and to the lower left of Leo – the long-lost tip of the lion’s tail. Script by Damond Benningfield

Most years, the Sun produces hundreds or thousands of sunspots – magnetic storms that look like dark splotches on its surface. From 1645 to 1715, though, sunspots all but disappeared. In many years, the number stayed in the single digits. And in some years, there were no sunspots at all. Today, that period is known as the Maunder minimum. It’s named for British astronomer Edward Maunder, who was born 175 years ago today. He wrote about the period in the late 1800s. Maunder was working at Britain’s Royal Observatory. He was assisted by his wife, Annie, who was a “computer” at the observatory – someone who did the tedious calculations. Maunder discovered a pattern in the sunspots, which wax and wane during a cycle of about 11 years. When a new cycle begins, most of the sunspots are concentrated at the Sun’s middle latitudes. As the cycle peaks, they’re concentrated closer to the equator. But he’s best known for the Maunder minimum. It occurred during the “Little Ice Age” – a period of unusual cold. That suggests a link between solar activity and Earth’s climate. But the link isn’t confirmed – it could be just a coincidence. We still don’t know what caused the sunspots to vanish. It had happened at least once before. So the mystery of the Maunder minimum remains unsolved. Script by Damond Benningfield

Gamma Cassiopeia is a busy star system. The main star is surrounding itself with a disk of gas and dust. The star is interacting with an invisible companion. And it’s building up to an impressive demise. Gamma Cas is the middle point of the letter M or W formed by the stars of Cassiopeia, which is high in the north-northwest at nightfall. Gamma Cas is the most distant member of that pattern, at 550 light-years. Its main star – the one visible to the eye alone – is about 15 times the mass of the Sun. And it’s about 20,000 times brighter than the Sun. The star spins at about a million miles an hour at its equator. That causes it to bulge outward, so it looks more like a lozenge than a ball. That high speed causes the star to fling gas from its surface, forming a disk around the star. Its companion probably is the corpse of a once mighty star. Some of the gas from the main star may fall onto the companion. Gamma Cas is only about eight million years old, yet it’s nearing its end. In a few million years more, it’s likely to explode – ending the life of this busy star. Incidentally, Gamma Cas has another name: Navi. It was bestowed in the 1960s by the crew of Apollo 1. It’s the middle name of commander Virgil Ivan Grissom spelled backward. After the crew died in a launchpad fire, NASA placed Navi on the charts used by later crews to navigate to the Moon. Script by Damond Benningfield

You might want to buckle up for this one. We’re going to take a wild ride through the universe. It’s a combination of several motions – involving our planet, our solar system, and our galaxy. First up is Earth’s motion around the Sun. Our planet’s average orbital speed is about 66,600 miles per hour. At that speed, it takes exactly one year for Earth to make one full turn. The Sun is moving as well, and it’s taking Earth and the rest of the solar system along for the ride. The Sun is about 27,000 light-years from the center of the Milky Way Galaxy. It circles around that center at almost 500,000 miles per hour. The galaxy is so huge, however, that it takes about 230 million years to complete one orbit. And that’s not the fastest motion we’re experiencing. The Milky Way belongs to a small cluster of galaxies, the Local Group. The group is being pulled toward the Virgo Cluster, which contains thousands of galaxies. And the Local Group, Virgo Cluster, and much more are being pulled in by the gravity of the Great Attractor – the center of an enormous collection of galaxies and dark matter. The Milky Way is speeding toward it at more than 1.3 million miles per hour. So while the ground beneath your feet feels steady, keep in mind that it’s on the move – tugged by the Sun, the galaxy, the Great Attractor – and perhaps even more. Script by Damond Benningfield