Just days to go now before the total solar eclipse, and I feel like a kid counting sleeps until the morning she wakes up and she is finally seven.
Just days to go and this I know: None of the grownups on Earth, not even the ones who manage to ruin things we once considered unruinable, can wreck the big show. They could throw themselves hard at the sky and try to knock the moon out of the way, but the moon will not be knocked and the sun will laugh, and when the show is over there will be no fees collected nor any mess to clean up. Just a memory of a celestial wonder.
No humans can get in the way. Although the clouds are another matter. The clouds might be planning some mischief all on their own, but never mind that. For now I am brimming with sky-watching optimism and counting the days.
People who know about these things say the highways will be jammed, so I will stay home on Monday. I plan to wear my van Gogh-style starry night “Totality” T-shirt and take my special glasses outside to my our small yard and perhaps exchange awkward observations with the neighbors as we wait. The dog can come too, even though the lady on the local news asked a veterinarian whether dogs could be harmed by looking at the eclipse. The vet said she was pretty sure dogs will not be looking straight into the sun.
We will be in my yard, sure, but in my dreams, I will be watching the magical sky from an Adirondack chair at the edge of a pond tucked beside the woods. A boom box will be playing cleverly chosen songs: You Are the Sunshine of My Life, Moon River, Sunny Skies, That's Amore.
As long as I'm dreaming, I think I'll have a cocktail. What kind of booze goes with a spring breeze and a once-in-an-almost-never celestial event? Maybe a nice tall grapefruit-flavored vodka on ice, hold the umbrella.
The colors green and yellow will waft past my nose on that spring breeze, and the loons will keep paddling, but I guess they'll know that something is up as the light starts to dim. As will the spring peepers and the small gray fish below the surface, and even the sleepy bottom feeders. As the miracle approaches, I'll turn off the music in favor of the whisper of trees. We can wear our silly glasses to watch the moon slide sideways until it is a black disc held in a ring of fire.
Darkness.
And the loon calls.
Will the screech owl awaken with a sudden urge to hunt? Hard to say, but why not watch it swoop out of its tree cavity as the sun starts to make its return? Sit here with me in the other chair, will you? Let's hang here with just nature's songs for the rest of the show. In a few minutes, when daylight returns, we can put the music on again. Sunshine on My Shoulders, Shame on the Moon, Dancing in the Moonlight, Total Eclipse of the Heart. But right now, there's gold and black in the sky like we almost never see, and it's nice, right? Mystical. Moving. Maybe it brings good luck. Let’s agree that it does.
Every now and then, Big Nature reminds us that we are not the boss of the world. Sometimes it's with golf-ball-sized hail and flattened trailer parks; sometimes with floods or wildfires or blizzards.
But now, instead, comes the sun, followed by the moon in the sky like a big pizza pie. What could be better?
Three more sleeps, friends. Just three more sleeps.
About the art
I made this eclipse drawing using ink on paper, then scanned it and edited in digitally. I don’t have it in the Etsy shop at the moment, but holler if you’re interested in a print and I’ll make it happen.
Wonderful!!! LOVE that image of sitting in an Adirondack chair sipping a grapefruit vodka drink and enjoying nature and the eclipse where it's less "peopley!" 💜👍
Oh, to be in OH-IO!
Love this piece — and the artwork is beautiful.