Solar Eclipse
On the cosmos.
Programming note: Hey, what the hell! These keep not sending out as expected! Here’s an unintentionally late edition of Enthusiasms for your reading pleasure.
There were clouds, as expected. After a bit of early morning sunshine, we had little hope that things might clear up. Still, we carried on — C. and I and a few others left our friends' place in Corning for Letchworth State Park, near Rochester, in the totality.
At first, the quality of the light was somewhere near "spooky thunderstorm" — nothing spectacular. But it got darker and then darker again, like someone was slowly turning down the dimmer in the room. Each time this happened, I'd think this must be it, and seconds later, it'd be darker and then darker still.
The air was notably colder. Birds stopped chirping. My instinct was to keep looking around to be sure that it really was night everywhere, as far as you could see. I tried to take a picture of the dark, but, of course, my phone kept correcting for the light — which, when it came back just a few minutes later, poured into the gorge until it once again filled the whole sky. The birds greeted the sun. Our friends' kid exclaimed loudly that she had to pee. Morning, or something like it.
I told C. I understood how someone might invent god after that. Who else could've orchestrated it, turning day to night and back again? When the eclipse was over, everyone around applauded the performance.