When we went to see the solar eclipse

Partial eclipse as seen through the clouds, April 8, 2024. Photo by the author.

We walked to the hillside behind our neighborhood, which is blooming with spring wildflowers right now. I took pictures of the purple paintbrush, prairie winecups, fringed bluestar, milkweed, and wild flax while we waited for totality. First the light became weird, warmer but also duskier, like the color was being sucked out of the grass and trees and sky around us. The birds started singing loudly, and then they stopped, and the frogs began.

Totality lasted 30 seconds, maybe a minute, and the world got so dark that all the automatic lights in the neighborhood came on. It's hard to describe without clichés, but it truly did look apocalyptic. The air felt noticeably cooler. People began cheering from their yards and patios. For those 30 seconds, we were able to look directly at the sun. It was a black circle with a shining white halo around it, flaring out unevenly. And then a pinprick of light became visible on the upper right of the circle, and soon it was blinding. Light and color returned, slowly and quickly at the same time. With the tiniest sliver of sun came color and warmth back into the world.

We sent a flurry of text messages and photos to distant family and local friends. From those nearby we got back pictures that looked the same and yet different in the tiniest ways—blurrier or clearer, higher or lower quality. We said, "Wow," over and over again.

And then we walked back home.