To Solar Eclipses

To you, you perfect celestial event, you.

I remember the first time I saw you - April 8, 2024, in Stowe, Vermont. The way you changed the light, turning the world into something alien and beautiful. The temperature dropped, and I felt a shiver run through my body that had nothing to do with the cold, and all to do with you.

Standing there in the Green Mountains, surrounded by my nearest and dearest, I watched you, the moon slowly consuming the sun, until only your perfect ring of light remained. Your corona danced around the edges like silver threads in the darkened sky. For those precious minutes, I understood why temples were built for you.

I'll never forget how you made the birds go quiet, how everyone around me gasped in unison when your totality hit. It wasn't just the visual spectacle - it was the way you made me feel small and significant all at once, a tiny human witnessing one of nature's grandest shows, your show. Even across the woods I could hear people screaming at you, pouring out wonder and awe because of your presence.

Even now, I can close my eyes and return to you: the hushed anticipation, the collective wonder, the way my heart seemed to pause between beats as darkness fell in the middle of the day. You reminded me that there is still magic in the world, still moments that can unite strangers in shared reverence.

You came to me during one of the darkest periods of my life. Depression had been a constant companion, weighing down each day with a heaviness that felt impossible to lift. But there, in that moment of totality, something shifted. As the world plunged into temporary darkness, I felt a spark of light inside me that I hadn't experienced in months.

You showed me that darkness is temporary. Just as the moon's shadow passed, revealing the sun's brilliance once again, I began to believe that maybe my own darkness would pass too. There was something profound in witnessing your cosmic dance - it reminded me that I was part of something larger, that my existence, however small it felt, was connected to your, to this grand moment.

In those brief minutes of your totality, my depression didn't vanish, but it loosened its grip, even if it was fleeting. The collective gasps and cheers of those around me pierced through the isolation I'd been feeling. For the first time in a long while, I felt truly present, truly alive, truly part of the human experience. You gave me that gift - a moment of pure wonder that transcended the weight of my pain.

And now, when the darkness threatens to overwhelm me again, I try to think of you. I remember how the light returned, not simply gradually, but inevitably, just as it always has, just as it always will. You taught me that even in the darkest moments, there's always a light waiting to emerge.

And I know, deep down, that I'll chase you, and that feeling, again. Because now I've seen you, now I've felt that primal mix of fear and wonder, I understand why humans have been captivated by your celestial dances for thousands of years. I’m captivated too, and I don’t know that this need to see you again will ever go away. You made me feel want, feel need, feel whole. I want to live to see you again, and for that, I am forever thankful to you.