Astronomy & Celestial Mechanics
the sky, computed
Concept

Equinox — where it appears

Either point where the Sun's apparent path crosses the celestial equator, and the instant at which it does so. It moves westward along the ecliptic by fifty arcseconds a year under precession, which is why every coordinate measured from it carries a date.

Named by 15 essays across 2 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.

What an eccentricity does to the shape, and what it does to the offset. The fractional flattening 1 − b/a and the fractional focal offset c/a, against eccentricity. The offset is first order in e and the flattening is second, so at Earth's e = 0.0167 the outline is 0.014% from a circle while the Sun sits 1.67% of the semi-major axis off the centre — a factor of 120.

An orbit can look exactly like a circle and still not be one

Earth's orbit departs from a circle by fourteen parts in a hundred thousand. The Sun's offset from its centre is a hundred and twenty times larger, and everything interesting is in the offset.

orbits · The ellipse Three rotations, applied in order. An orbit of eccentricity 0.45 carried into space by the three orientation angles, one panel per rotation: the argument of periapsis ω = 40°, then the inclination i = 42°, then the longitude of the ascending node Ω = 55°. The last panel applies the same three angles in the reverse order and arrives somewhere else, because rotations about different axes do not commute.

Three rotations that put an orbit in space, and they do not commute

An orbit's orientation takes three angles. Give the same three angles in a different order and the orbit ends up somewhere else — which is why the convention is part of the data.

orbits · Orbital elements The sky from latitude 52°. The celestial sphere seen from latitude 52 degrees. The pole stands 52 degrees above the horizon, the celestial equator meets the horizon due east and west, and a star at declination 20 degrees traces the drawn circle once a day. Everything below the horizon is drawn faint.

The sphere that is not there, and why it is still the right model

The stars are at wildly different distances and the celestial sphere is a fiction. It is also the most useful fiction in observational astronomy, because for pointing at things, distance is exactly the information to throw away.

sky · Celestial sphere The Sun's altitude through the day at latitude 52°. Solar altitude against the hour of the day, at one latitude, for the solstices and the equinox. Where a curve crosses zero is sunrise or sunset, and the width between the crossings is the length of the day.

The Sun's path, and the tilt that makes the seasons

Summer is not when the Earth is closest to the Sun — that happens in January. It is when the Sun climbs higher and stays up longer, and both come from a 23.4° tilt.

sky · Seasons The path of the celestial pole over 25,772 years. The circle the Earth's rotation axis traces among the stars, at a radius equal to the obliquity, with the bright stars that fall near it and the years at which each is closest. Polaris is the pole star for a few centuries either side of now, and nothing else on the circle is nearly as close.

The pole star has a shelf life, and the sky has a slow hand

The Earth's axis traces a circle among the stars once every 25,772 years. Polaris is at the pole now, was not four thousand years ago, and will not be in two thousand more.

sky · Precession The equation of time, and its two causes. The difference between a sundial and a clock over the year, in minutes, computed from Kepler's equation and the tilt. The eccentricity term has one cycle a year and the obliquity term has two; their sum runs from −14.2 to 16.4 minutes.

The Sun is a bad clock, by up to sixteen minutes

Solar noon and twelve o'clock are not the same instant, and the discrepancy runs through a fixed annual cycle. It has two causes, one from the shape of the orbit and one from the tilt of the axis.

sky · Equation of time One star, two coordinate systems, at latitude 52°. The equatorial grid and the horizon grid drawn on the same sphere for an observer at latitude 52°. The star marked has declination 20° and hour angle -40° in the first, and altitude 45.5° and azimuth 239.4° in the second. The two frames differ by a single rotation through the co-latitude 38°, which is why the celestial pole stands 52° above the northern horizon.

Where a star is depends on who is asking

The sky needs two coordinate systems because two different things stay still in it — the observer's horizon and the stars themselves. One rotation converts between them, and the angle of that rotation is the time.

sky · Celestial sphere Why the solar day is 3m 55.91s longer than the sidereal one. Two positions of the Earth one day apart, with the direction of a fixed star and the direction of the Sun marked at each. After one sidereal day — 23h 56m 4.0905s — the Earth has turned through exactly 360° and the star is back on the meridian; the Sun is not, because the Earth has moved 0.9856° along its orbit, and the further 0.9856° of turning takes 3m 55.91s. That is the whole of the difference: 366.2422 turns against the stars in the 365.2422 solar days of a year, one more turn than the 365.2422 against the Sun. Nothing here is to scale. The orbital arc is drawn at 40°, which exaggerates the real 0.9856° by 41 times, and the Earth's disc is about 4073 times too large for its orbit. The two star sight lines are drawn parallel because they are: a star's distance cannot be put on the same page as an orbit.

The day that is four minutes short

A star crosses the meridian 3 minutes 55.91 seconds earlier each night, and the same star slips 3 minutes 56.56 seconds a day against a civil clock. Those are two different numbers, and the gap between them is the one extra turn the Earth makes against the stars in every year.

sky · Sidereal time The wobble inside the wobble. Left: the two components of nutation over 40 years, from the four largest terms of the standard series. The long wave is the regression of the Moon's node in 18.613 years, which is where nearly all of it comes from; the ripple on it is the semi-annual solar term at 1.3″ and the semi-monthly lunar one at 0.2″. Right: the loop the pole actually traces over one node cycle, in arcseconds on the sky, with the mean pole at the centre. The loop is 14.89″ by 19.90″ — taller than it is wide, because the longitude term is foreshortened by sin ε while the obliquity term is not, which is the one thing a schematic of this is always drawn getting wrong. Over the same 18.6 years precession itself carries the pole 936″ along its circle, 47 times the loop's own height, so nutation is a wobble on a path and not a path. It is nonetheless 99,480 times the 0.2 mas astrometry of a modern catalogue, which is why a position has to say whether it is referred to the mean pole or the true one.

The wobble inside the wobble

Precession and nutation are the same torque. The difference is that the Moon's orbital plane turns once in 18.6 years, so part of the pull oscillates instead of accumulating — and a catalogue position is not a direction until it says which pole it is measured from.

sky · Precession A sidereal clock that runs up to 1.15 seconds ahead or behind, with the Moon's node. The equation of the equinoxes from 1990 to 2030: apparent sidereal time, counted from the true equinox, minus mean sidereal time, counted from an equinox that only precesses. It is the nutation in longitude times the cosine of the obliquity, and it is drawn here from the four largest nutation terms, which carry it to about a hundredth of a second. The dominant term follows the Moon's node round its 18.61-year cycle with an amplitude of ±1.052 s; riding on it are a half-yearly term of ±0.081 s from the Sun and a fortnightly one of ±0.014 s from the Moon. Over this span the sum runs from −1.147 to 1.146 s. None of it is the Earth's rotation: it is the zero point of the clock moving, because the zero point is the intersection of the equator with the ecliptic and the equator nods.

A clock whose zero is moving

Sidereal time is counted from the equinox, and the equinox does not stay put. Its steady drift makes the sidereal day eight milliseconds short, its acceleration puts a quadratic term into the formula for sidereal time, and the Moon makes it nod by a second every nineteen years. The Earth rotation angle removes all three by counting from a point defined not to move along the equator.

sky · Sidereal time Five zones, one angle. The Sun's highest and lowest noon altitude against latitude, for an obliquity of 23.4393°. The upper curve is noon on the summer solstice and the lower is noon on the winter one; they are the same function of latitude displaced by 23.4393° in each direction, which is why one angle fixes both boundaries. Where the upper curve reaches 90° is the tropic, at 23.44° — the Sun is overhead at noon there on exactly one day, and somewhere inside it on every other day of the year. Where the lower curve reaches 0° is the polar circle, at 66.56° — the Sun fails to clear the horizon on the winter solstice, and on more days the further poleward one goes. They are the same inequality: |φ| ≤ ε for the first and |φ| ≥ 90° − ε for the second, and an obliquity of zero would collapse the tropics to the equator and push the polar circles to the poles, leaving one zone. The areas are the part that is not intuitive. The fraction of a sphere between two latitudes is the difference of their sines, so the tropics — a band a quarter of the way to the pole — hold 39.8 per cent of the Earth's surface, the temperate zones 52.0 per cent, and the polar caps only 8.3. The zone where the Sun can be overhead is 4.8 times the area of the zone where it can fail to rise, and both boundaries are the same 23.44°.

Five zones, and one angle

The tropics are where the Sun can stand overhead; the polar circles are where it can fail to rise. Both boundaries are 23.44° measured from opposite ends, and the zone the Sun can reach is nearly five times the area of the zone it can miss.

sky · Seasons The sunniest place on Earth is the summer pole. Daily-mean insolation against latitude, on the June solstice, an equinox, the December solstice, computed from Q = (S₀/π)(ā/r)²[H₀ sin φ sin δ + cos φ cos δ sin H₀] with the half-day angle clipped to a whole day inside the polar circle. On the June solstice the north pole receives 524 W/m² and the equator receives 385 — a third more, at a place where the Sun never climbs above 23.4°. Both halves of the product move: the Sun is low, so each square metre catches little; and it never sets, so the catching goes on for twenty-four hours. The second wins. That is why the daily total and the noon altitude disagree about where summer is strongest, and the daily total is the one an ice sheet answers to. The two hemispheres are not equal either. The Earth is nearest the Sun in early January, so the December solstice delivers 559 W/m² to the south pole against the north pole's 524 in June — 6.7 per cent more. What this cannot show is any temperature. Antarctica is the coldest place on Earth and receives the most sunlight of anywhere on any day; between the insolation and the temperature sit an albedo, an altitude and an ocean.

The sunniest place is the summer pole

On the June solstice the north pole receives 524 watts per square metre averaged over the day, and the equator 385. The Sun there never climbs above 23.4° and never sets, and the second wins.

sky · Seasons The hottest month is not the sunniest. The annual cycle of insolation at latitude 45°, and the temperature three surfaces of different heat capacity answer it with — each curve scaled to its own peak, because what is being compared is timing and not degrees. A surface losing 2 W m⁻² per kelvin above equilibrium obeys C dT/dt = Q − λT, and for a sinusoidal forcing that is one line of algebra: the response lags by arctan(ωC/λ) and is reduced by (1 + (ωC/λ)²)^(−½). a continental interior, 2.4 m of water, lags by 45.6 days and swings by 71 per cent of what a massless surface would; a shallow shelf sea, 10 m of water, lags by 77.6 days and swings by 23 per cent of what a massless surface would; a deep ocean mixed layer, 50 m of water, lags by 88.5 days and swings by 4.8 per cent of what a massless surface would. The lag can never reach a quarter of a cycle — three months — because an arctangent cannot reach 90°, which is why no inhabited place has its warmest month in December in the north, and why the sea comes closest. And the two numbers are one number: the same ωC/λ that carries the phase towards the quarter cycle divides the amplitude, so a long lag is bought with a small swing and cannot be had any other way. The solstice falls on day 170 and the peak insolation with it; the warmest day at this latitude follows between 46 and 89 days later depending on what is underneath. What no curve here can show is the atmosphere's own transport, which carries heat sideways between the surfaces drawn and makes each one's effective capacity partly its neighbour's.

The hottest month is not the sunniest

A surface with a heat capacity answers a sinusoid late and small, and the two are the same number. The lag can never reach a quarter of a cycle — three months for a year, six hours for a day — because an arctangent cannot reach ninety degrees.

sky · Seasons Four tropical years, one for each season. How long the Earth takes to return to the same season, measured from each point of its orbit, minus the mean tropical year of 365.24219 days, in seconds, against the season point (the Sun's longitude). The perihelion drifts relative to the equinox, so between two returns of the same season the planet must cover slightly less than a full orbit in true anomaly, and that shortfall takes longest where the planet moves slowest. Measured from the March equinox the year is longer than the mean by 12 seconds; from the June solstice, 50 shorter; from the December solstice, 49 longer. The full range is ±51 seconds. The Gregorian calendar's average year, 365.2425 days (dashed), is 27 seconds longer than the mean and 15 seconds from the year counted from the March equinox, the one it was built to hold.

A year that depends on the season counting it

The tropical year is quoted to eight decimal places, and it is not one number. Counted from the June solstice it is fifty seconds shorter than counted from the December solstice, because the Earth's perihelion moves through the seasons and the planet covers the last of each year's shortfall at whatever speed it happens to be moving there. The Gregorian calendar was fitted to the year counted from the March equinox, which is why its average year is the length it is — and that year is itself drifting. On Mars the spread is fourteen minutes, and a calendar's leap rule can be more precise than the year it is meant to hold.

sky · Calendars The Moon is late by anything from a quarter of an hour to well over an hour. Minutes between one moonrise and the next at latitude 52° N, against the Moon's longitude along its orbit, with the node at 0°. The daily delay is 10 minutes at longitude 354° and 84 at 222°. The mean of 50 minutes everyone quotes is true only as an average. A full Moon stands opposite the Sun, so it passes the shallow point near the September equinox, and the crescent passes it in spring.

A full Moon that stops rising later

The Moon rises about fifty minutes later each day. That number is an average that hardly any night obeys. At fifty-two degrees north, in late September, the full Moon rises only ten or twenty minutes later for several nights running, so that a bright Moon stands in the evening sky for most of a week, just when harvest once needed it. Nothing about the Moon changes. It is the angle at which its path meets the horizon, and that angle goes through its lowest value at one point of the ecliptic, which the autumn's full Moon happens to occupy.

sky · Seasons

Named alongside it

The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.

ObliquitySolsticeDeclinationCelestial sphereEpochInsolationSolar declinationAxial precessionAxial tiltEccentricityNutationSidereal time

All concepts