Gregg Hallinan

On the night of March 9–10, 2024, a cloud of plasma ejected by the Sun raced away from the star. It had already passed a distance of five solar radii when a ground-based array of 352 antennas in California's Owens Valley caught a brief radio signal from it.

The VLA radio telescope in New Mexico listened to the sky for two sessions of 96 minutes each and caught short radio bursts from the object 2M2228—a brown dwarf. This cosmic body is heavier than a planet but lighter than a star: thermonuclear reactions never ignite in its core, so it simply cools over time.

The solar corona, the Sun's outer atmosphere, stretches millions of kilometers, yet it's visible only during a total eclipse or with specialized instruments. Typically, we gauge the corona's density by how it scatters white light, but that method relies on simplifications that can skew the results.

On the night of August 18, 2025, the LIGO, Virgo, and KAGRA detectors felt a tremor in spacetime — as if two neutron stars had collided somewhere far away. Almost immediately, telescopes found a point of light in the same patch of sky.

Listening to the cosmos requires patience and a finely tuned ear. Astronomers chose the most sensitive low-frequency instrument for this: the OVRO–LWA antenna array — 352 dipole antennas scattered across two and a half kilometers of California desert.

The cosmos is full of screams we can't hear. Every time a black hole tears a star apart, a blinding flash is born, and often — a narrow relativistic jet, shooting out thousands of light-years. But if that searchlight is aimed away from Earth, we see only a faint afterglow — a radio echo arriving with a delay.

Radio telescopes listen to the sky like sensitive ears: they catch the whispers of distant explosions, the hum of galaxies, the crackle of pulsars. But sometimes they pick up a sound that isn't in the catalogs. In 2003, such a sound emerged in the constellation Aquila — a spot in the sky that had been quiet until it suddenly began to speak.