Sky & Telescope’s Sky Tour Podcast for August 2025

This month’s episode is sponsored by Celestron, manufacturer of high-quality telescopes and an industry leader in developing exciting optical products with revolutionary technologies.
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I’m Kelly Beatty of Sky & Telescope magazine, and tonight we’re going on a tour of the stars and planets that you’ll see overhead during August. This month we’ll track down four planets before dawn; have some fun with New Moons, peek at some Perseids; welcome Saturn to the evening sky; and gaze at the center of our galaxy. So load up on the bug juice, and come along on this month’s Sky Tour.
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As an avid stargazer, I’m keenly aware of the Sun’s risings and settings as the seasons change. For example, here in Boston, getting a full night’s sleep can a real challenge in midsummer. The birds start serenading me by 4 a.m., and sunlight streams into my east-facing bedroom by 5. Ugh! But now it’s August, and daybreak comes an hour or so later. So now I might be tempted to get up early to watch what’s going on in the sky before dawn.
If you need convincing to join me during August, there’ll be four planets in the predawn sky — and the two brightest will be putting on quite a show. Here’s what’s you can look forward to seeing: By now Jupiter has risen high enough to be well clear of the eastern horizon by dawn’s first light. It joins dazzling Venus, which has dominated the predawn sky for the past couple of months. As August begins, these two beacons are separated by about the width of your clenched fist seen at arm’s length, with Venus higher up. But not for long! Venus has sped past Earth in its orbit and is heading behind the Sun, so consequently it’s drifting lower in the morning sky — even as Jupiter inches a little higher day by day. 
This all comes to a spectacular culmination on the morning of August 12th, when the year’s most anticipated planet pairing takes place. The two of them will be separated by less than 1° — about the width of your outstretched little finger. You won’t have trouble figuring out which is which, because Venus outshines Jupiter by two full magnitudes, or more than six times. In the mornings thereafter, Venus slides closer to the horizon and Jupiter keeps climbing. They’ll be about 7° apart a week later and roughly one fist apart by month’s end. But don’t worry: Venus will linger in view before dawn until at least early November.
Meanwhile, while we’re all agog and distracted with Venus and Jupiter, watch for Mercury sneaking up from the eastern horizon by midmonth. It’s farthest from the Sun in the sky on the 19th, so you should be able to spot it easily about 45 minutes before sunrise for about a week before and after the 19th. 
To the right of all this planet action, look for Orion rising majestically, his outstretched arm leading the way. Look for the distinctive vertical trio of stars that mark his belt with Betelgeuse to their left and Rigel to their right. Orion is joined by Procyon and Sirus lower down, marking his hunting dogs, and Capella and Aldebaran higher up. Castor and Pollux in Gemini are just to the right of Jupiter. What a traffic jam! And on several successive mornings, from the 17th to the 21st, the waning crescent Moon divebombs this scene and adds to the drama. You can afford to lose a little sleep to take this all in. 
And I did mention four planets, right? You’ll find Saturn, pretty much all on its own, well up in the southwest as dawn approaches. But don’t feel bad for the ringed wonder — it will be the first of these planets to make an appearance in our evening sky. And the fifth bright planet, Mars, is still lingering low in the west after sunset — refusing to be swallowed up by twilight’s glow. But August will be its last hurrah for this year.
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Speaking of the Moon, here’s a quick recap of its whereabouts. The month opens with first quarter on the 1st, followed by full Moon on the 9th. Native Americans knew this as the Full Sturgeon Moon, named after a freshwater fish that’s found in lakes and rivers in North America. But it’s also known as the Barley Moon, Grain Moon, or Fruit Moon. Last-, or third-quarter Moon comes on the morning of the 16th, followed by new Moon on August 23rd. Then the Moon returns to the evening sky and reaches first-quarter again just as we flip the calendar to September.
Hey, have you ever wondered why full Moons have names but new moons don’t? We say the Moon is “new” when it passes between Earth and the Sun. Around those times it gets thinner and harder to spot in the twilight glare before dawn and then just disappears from view for a couple of days before emerging in the evening sky. So since we can’t see the Moon when it’s new, I guess there was no point in giving it distinctive nicknames each month. Or we could start a trend for these phases: the Not There Moon, Black as Coal Moon, etc. Have some fun with that! And — puhlease! — let’s avoid the click-bait that alerts you to “super Moons” (which I’m no fan of anyway) that happen at new Moon.  I even saw one website that trumpeted the occurrence of “five new supermoons in a row this year” — all of them hopelessly invisible of course. Big whoop.
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I don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine “August” without thinking of the annual Perseid meteor shower. This is the time when you’ll see many more “shooting stars” than usual. The Perseids have a fairly sharp peak, which this year is forecast for the night of August 12th and the predawn hours of the 13th. You can start looking fairly soon after sunset, as early as 9 p.m., once the constellation of Perseus rises over the northeastern horizon. The problem this year is that a fat gibbous Moon rises just as twilight is ending on the 12th. Its light will wash out the faintest Perseids, and you’ll only see the brightest ones, which might come every 5 to 10 minutes. But keep an eye out for a couple of nights afterward too. The Moon will rise later, and you’ll have more dark sky to work with.
By the way, when the Moon rises on the 12th, look for the planet Saturn about one fist to its right. Days later the Moon will be long gone from that part of the sky, but Saturn will still be there, getting a little higher after twilight week by week.
For a long time, nobody knew what the Perseids were. Some Catholics believed that these meteors were the burning tears of St. Lawrence, who was martyred in Rome on August 10th in the year 258. Fast forward, to 1837, when a Connecticut bookstore clerk named Edward Herrick saw lots of meteors on the night of August 9th — and he later concluded that they occur every year on the same date. It turns out that John Locke, the headmaster of a girls’ school in Cincinnati, had reached the same conclusion three years earlier.
In any case, today we know that the Perseid meteors are bits of debris shed by a comet called Swift-Tuttle. Earth passes near the comet's orbit every August, and that’s when tiny particles of comet dust, most the size of sand grains, slam into our atmosphere at 37 miles per second. All this happens quite high above us, about 60 miles up. Each incoming particle compresses the air in front of it, like water just ahead of a speedboat, creating a white-hot shock wave along its path. The flash of light our eyes see is that brief but brilliant shock wave — not the particle itself burning up.
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OK, let’s do some stargazing. Turn toward south soon after nightfall, and look for a fairly bright star not far above the southern horizon. That’s Antares. It marks the heart of Scorpius, a critter whose head is marked by a vertical arc of three medium-bright stars a little to the right. In the Northern Hemisphere, the closer you live to the equator the higher up you’ll see the Scorpion in the sky. Those of you in southern states like Texas and Florida have much better views than I do way up here in Massachusetts. From countries like Chile and Australia in the Southern Hemisphere, Scorpius appears directly overhead this time of year.
Now shift your gaze to the left of Antares by about three fists. You’re looking for a group of eight medium-bright stars in the shape of a teapot. The handle is on the left and the spout, tipped down a bit, is on the right. Got it? The whole thing is about the size of your clenched fist. From northern states and Europe, the Teapot is only one or two fists above the horizon, so it helps if you look from a spot with a clear, unobstructed view toward the south.
Now when astronomers carved up the sky they didn’t call this the “Teapot” constellation. Instead, you’ve found the main stars of the constellation Sagittarius, a mythological archer who is half man and half horse. And you are looking toward the center of our home galaxy. If you’re lucky enough to live where the sky is really dark, or if you happen to be on vacation in a rural setting, you’ll see what look like puffs of steam rising from the spout. Those puffs are the countless stars of the Milky Way, which continue upward until they arch overhead and clear across the summer sky.
And if you’re unlucky enough to live where light pollution is rampant, which is most of us, you can’t see the Milky Way at all. In fact, ask yourself: have you ever seen the Milky Way in all its glory? If not, you really owe it to yourself to get under a clear, deep-black sky this time of year to see all those stars arcing across the sky like a great river of light. It’s a sight you won’t soon forget.
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Do an about-face from Antares so that you’re facing roughly north. After evening twilight fades, you’ll see the Big Dipper hanging from its handle about halfway up in the sky. At the end of the handle are four stars forming its bowl. Your outstretched fist will just cover the Bowl. Draw an imaginary line through the bottom pair of stars and follow it up and to the right by about three fists until you reach a medium-bright star. That’s the North Star, called Polaris, and you’re now looking due north.
Now go back to the Big Dipper, and this time follow the arc of its handle to the left, until, three fists away, you come to a bright star perched high above the western horizon. That’s Arcturus, the fourth-brightest star in the nighttime sky. As stars go, this one isn’t much bigger or brighter than our own Sun, but it’s relatively close by — just 37 light-years away. Arcturus is a Greek name meaning “guardian of the bear”, the constellation Ursa Major, which includes the Big Dipper. It’s also the alpha star in the constellation Boötes [bow-OO-teez], the Plowman. Let’s say that one together: bow-OO-teez. Got it? It’s from the Greek words for “plow” and “ox.” 
The main stars of Boötes form a skinny kite-shaped pattern, about two fists tall, that stretches to the upper right from Arcturus, which sits at the kite’s bottom. Now look just to the kite’s left, two fists directly above Arcturus. You’re looking for a semicircle of stars, kind of shaped like a cup with no handle. This is a small, compact constellation called Corona Borealis, the Northern Crown. You’ll need a pretty dark sky to see entire arc, though there’s a medium bright star near its midpoint. That star is named Alphecca, which is Arabic for “the bright (star) of the broken ring”. And you might wonder whether there’s a southern counterpart called Corona Australis. Why, yes, there is — directly below the Teapot of Sagittarius. But all of its stars are pretty faint, so don’t be disappointed if you can’t see it.
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That’s about it for this month. If you want more tips for viewing the night sky, check out “Sky at a Glance” on our website, which offers great star- and planet-gazing activities on a day-by-day basis.
If you haven’t already subscribed, you can find this Sky Tour on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, or wherever you listen. And please leave a rating or review! It will help others find this podcast. 
And if you want to explore the solar system and universe more deeply, please do check out the full line of binoculars and telescopes available at Celestron.com.
Sky Tour is a production of Sky & Telescope, a division of the American Astronomical Society, and is produced by me, Kelly Beatty.
Join me next month, when we’ll go exploring in and around the Summer Triangle. Until then, I wish you Clear Skies.