Wednesday morning, a total solar eclipse.

It was amazing and beautiful and fleeting. For about half an hour before the total eclipse, everything started getting darker, glowing, wispy. The wind picked up and it got cooler.  It got darker and the moon cast shadows that grew longer and longer until the sun disappeared completely.  The baby cried, the 3 year old asked when the neighbours backhoe was leaving (the moon and sun’s joint disappearing act could not compete with its flashing orange lights), and we stood in our street breathless and amazed.

Really, I guess maybe it was nothing all that amazing. The moon and the sun just met for a moment in a way they usually don’t. The little ol’ moon and the shiny, hot sun, two objects that are always, always there. Sometimes we see them and are aware, other times we are oblivious, others still we take comfort in knowing they’ll soon come again.

But not this day. On Wednesday they were the universe’s way of giving me a punch in the face, of reminding me of the beauty and awe and amazement we can find in the ordinary.  Every day.

The day carried on, the clouds came over, the moon and sun went on their way. The eclipse made me wonder what else I’ve been missing, what else I’ve been taking for granted, what else I can’t see because it’s always there.

What are you missing?


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