When man and woman first began to people the earth, they were guided by stars and events in the sky. They didn't even have language. How frightening to see the moon or sun turn black, without even words to express themselves. Was the world ending? Were they being punished for something they did or didn't do?
Last night, as we sat with our neighbors on the edge of another's driveway, watching the moon go from red to black, chattering like monkeys, I thought of that as the sky turned dark, then darker, as the black moon rose in the sky. The grown ups went silent first, followed by the kids, then even the nearby traffic noise stopped. The awe was palpable, not even broken when a plane, just a tiny blinking light, flew directly across the inky moon.
Watching the magnificent lunar eclipse last night, and then waking this morning to see the full moon, no longer dark, but shrouded by fog, cradled in the crotch of my neighbors giant, bare tree (it would be so poetic if I could identify it by name, but I can't), I couldn't help but marvel at how lucky we are to be here.
To be witness to it, and to know what it is. To be grateful, even, for what it isn't.