Clouds obscured our eclipse on Monday. Our California setting would only have allowed us a crescent sun, had the clouds not been in the way. We missed out on a lot so I watched a friend’s video as it happened in Wyoming.
I listened to their joy
Like maybe the things one would feel during the birth of a child.
I choked up at their wonder as they yelled and whooped into the prairie;
seeing planets in the middle of the day, a sneak peek at the platter of stars you might only get to see on a February night.
In these times of immediate gratification and fast moving days where there’s not enough time, I was struck with a thought about this eclipse:
This one thing could not be fast-forwarded to get to the “good” part. The world was forced to wait months for the eclipse to happen on its own time.
It would not be rushed or slowed down and yet — -
in that space of a few minutes, the eclipse played a time trick on us and it was this: it fast-forwarded to give us a compressed dusk-night-dawn moment before our very eyes, as if to show that it alone had control over the cursor.
It gave us the magic of
a short night
and a long minute…
at the same time and in the same place of the sky.
Seeing how long it took the sun to reemerge shows me just how long a full minute is in a day;
how many hundreds of them we have in a day,
how many chances we get to choose what we want to do with our day.
All this as the darkness paused, telling everyone, “Shhhh. Listen. Think.”
We get no replay button.