An Afternoon Eclipse
A periodic checking in event
Sitting on the deck with a bag of pretzels, a Ghia ginger spritz, two colanders, and my Space Science Institute issued eclipse glasses — acquired from the local library because the Internet did its job in convincing me that getting glasses from anywhere else would lead to certain blindness — I marveled at the moon passing before the sun. I was not in the path of totality, but close enough to it that the day held real significance. I had spent part of the afternoon on the beach, watching the waves and periodically putting my special glasses on to check if it had started. I was elated with that first glimpse of just a sliver of the sun disappearing.
There’s a strangeness to a solar eclipse in that you can’t actually look at it with your bare eyes, and even with protective eyewear, you’re still limited to only a few minutes of astonishment at a time. You can be awed, but not too far overcome as to forget all sense of time and therefore damage your eyesight. It’s a periodic checking in event. You put your glasses on, look up, and are presented with an image that stupefies. You may find yourself peacefully caught up in wonder one minute, the next, a fantastic array of thoughts rush forth, about the sun, the moon, all things large and small. After a few minutes, you take a break and gaze about, seeing how things may have shifted. Perhaps you keep your head pointed to the heavens, closing your eyes and focusing on the warmth of the sun. Perhaps you play around with a colander and delight in the hundreds of tiny crescents that decorate the wood below your feet. Then it’s glasses back on to see how the moon has progressed on its path. Maybe this time you go so far as to contemplate your place in the universe for a minute or two. Celestial events have a habit of doing things like that.
One of the weirder aspects about today’s experience was realizing how much I had already forgotten about the solar eclipse seven years ago. It was a swelteringly hot summer day in my first week of living in Virginia, an ice cream sandwich melting in my hand as I tried to not be annoyed that the next door neighbor was using the opportunity of less sunlight to mow the lawn. The day felt monumental, revelatory, and I figured every person bearing witness to it was approaching it with as much purpose and poetic thinking as I was. Everything that occurred that afternoon felt bizarre, rhapsodic, and a little unnerving. And today, to once again witness eerie light, a sudden drop in temperature, and the quieting of birdsong, and think “this is what happens during an eclipse” is just downright weird. It’s wild to have encountered something as spectacular as a solar eclipse twice.
I love that such a brief but wondrous occurrence compels people to travel hundreds or thousands of miles so they can experience it with further intensity. I had a friend in grad school that had worked with a filmmaker who chased eclipses all over the world. I’ve never seen the footage, but what I’ve cooked up in my mind is splendidly dramatic. If you were so lucky as to revel in the magic of the eclipse today, I hope you’re still abuzz. What a sight! And for the week ahead, some good auditory vibes to savor. Take good care and keep the positive cosmic energy going.
— Katie