Eclipse Ride
I’ve seen two lunar eclipses this year.
The first was this summer, after a day at Disneyland, at about 2:00 in the morning, as I glanced out the window of my friend Beth’s house in Los Angeles during a late night pee break; I was singularly unimpressed, even though the moon was almost completely shrouded and had turned a compelling shade of red in the light-polluted skies overhead.
The second was Wednesday night, as I rode home on an unnaturally clear February night in Seattle and got to watch the progression of the lunar event for about an hour and a half as the full moon fell more and more into shadow, eventually leaving only the smallest sliver of a toothsome smile showing before slowly reappearing until, by the time I arrived in my back yard, it looked like it was wearing a yamulke or perhaps, a dark beret.
My experience of this eclipse, in contrast to summer’s, was one of complete awe. Not only was the phenomenon hauntingly beautiful, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the thrilling majesty of nature’s glory. Here was the hugest heavenly body with which we have direct contact, our earth, slowly being passed by the next closest astronomical entity to us, the moon, blocking out the light from the source of all our life and energy, the Sun, and giving us a brilliant show to boot.
All along the trail from Lake Forest Park to Montlake, I would see groups of people staring up at the sky, pointing and shaking their heads in wonder. My favorite was a handful of young men in baggy pants and upturned baseball caps standing around their car in the parking lot of Husky stadium, quietly taking in the celestial spectacle; the old man in me found it heartwarming to see that, at least for an evening, natural beauty overcame for them whatever artificial attractions videogames or loud music usually had to offer.
For me, too.
The first was this summer, after a day at Disneyland, at about 2:00 in the morning, as I glanced out the window of my friend Beth’s house in Los Angeles during a late night pee break; I was singularly unimpressed, even though the moon was almost completely shrouded and had turned a compelling shade of red in the light-polluted skies overhead.
The second was Wednesday night, as I rode home on an unnaturally clear February night in Seattle and got to watch the progression of the lunar event for about an hour and a half as the full moon fell more and more into shadow, eventually leaving only the smallest sliver of a toothsome smile showing before slowly reappearing until, by the time I arrived in my back yard, it looked like it was wearing a yamulke or perhaps, a dark beret.
My experience of this eclipse, in contrast to summer’s, was one of complete awe. Not only was the phenomenon hauntingly beautiful, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the thrilling majesty of nature’s glory. Here was the hugest heavenly body with which we have direct contact, our earth, slowly being passed by the next closest astronomical entity to us, the moon, blocking out the light from the source of all our life and energy, the Sun, and giving us a brilliant show to boot.
All along the trail from Lake Forest Park to Montlake, I would see groups of people staring up at the sky, pointing and shaking their heads in wonder. My favorite was a handful of young men in baggy pants and upturned baseball caps standing around their car in the parking lot of Husky stadium, quietly taking in the celestial spectacle; the old man in me found it heartwarming to see that, at least for an evening, natural beauty overcame for them whatever artificial attractions videogames or loud music usually had to offer.
For me, too.
posted by Professor Dave at 10:48 AM
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