Here in Pomfret we knew we’d miss the total eclipse on April 8th, but as we sat outside, watching the moon slowly process across the sun, the snow still on the ground gradually took on a wondrous silvery blue glow. The neighborhood crows set up a ruckus, as if asking each other what the hell was happening, why’s it getting darker NOW? When the moon obliterated all but the tiniest sliver of sun, all birds went still. The power of the sun was still remarkable. With only that miniscule remainder shining down on us we still had plenty of sunlight, albeit somewhat dimmed. As the moon continued its travels, gradually letting more and more of the sun emerge, the birds–crows, starlings, jays, chickadees, et al–provided a welcoming chorus. I do have a bit of envy for those who experienced the totality, but am grateful for the celestial pleasures we had right here at home. Below is a poem of mine now on exhibit at PoemTown St. Johnsbury:
April Eighth
We shiver in known dark
appalled and silent among
friends
No one runs screaming
terrified the world will
end
No one begs Ra to return
or prays for God’s golden
smile
Yet terror lurks behind
oohs and aahs
this three-minute
taste of hushed
apocalypse
It was momentous! Thank you.
Love your description of the eclipse as you saw it, Anne, and your poem. From Morgantown, Tom and I sat outside, watching. This was my first eclipse, and I’m deeply pleased I had a chance to experience the mystery. We had about 90% totality here.
Love, Sue