The eclipse was an event. A couple of hundred people in my town gathered for a few hours of eating moon shaped cookies, watching the news feed of the event in several time zones, and the chance to share protective glasses to look into the sky.
A friend captured the feeling. He called it "collective effervescence". Yes, the experience of being with
a flock of fellow sun watchers on an otherwise ordinary afternoon was delightful. I spoke with a handful of them. Not all, by a long shot, and yet being elbow to elbow for a common reason connected us in a way that did not require speaking. It was my pleasure to watch small children dash between the stands of adults. There were babies in strollers, and girls holding hands with their best friend. Maybe the preschoolers knew the motivation for schlepping a blanket and chairs, or maybe not. A word
like solar is not part of a five year old's vocabulary. But they understand sunshine, and darkness, too.
The experience of the golden sun melting behind the moon was not as scary as it would have been if we had no warning.
A small child asked his parents how people a thousand years ago felt about it. Probably they grappled with the fear that day would never come back. There were no astronomers charting the sky, to predict such
anomalies. Maybe there are historians who know the answer to those questions. I do not.
But I find enormous solace in the promise that those instances when I cannot find Light, are temporary. Because I am just a child, too.