Rain Gryphon

Today, for the first, and almost certainly the last time in my life,I saw the total eclipse. The weather was perfect, warm and sunny, a rarity in Indiana for April. The maternal parent and I discussed going to the Speedway for the viewing party, but ended up instead driving about 20 miles south of Kokomo, where we parked on an access road for an electrical substation out in the middle of miles of fields. The Porter County Sheriff and his family joined us, as did another family with children. In all, there were probably 12 to 15 cars parked within sight of us, with people standing beside them watch the sun, which is not a shabby crowd for the middle of the country.

I've seen partial eclipses before, of course, and this started out that way, with the light slowly dimming, and the heat of the sun slowly lessening. The last few minutes before the totality, though, were like nothing I have ever experienced. It is deeply, rather unexpectedly unsettling to watch the sun dwindle to a slender crescent, and then be hidden behind the moon. The warmth of the sun dies concurrently with the light. For some reason, that's disturbing, even when you understand what is happening. I can empathize with accounts of terrified savages seeing this just happen out of nowhere.

When there's nothing left but the narrowest arc, it's possible to glance at the sun (still painful to look at) and see plainly the arcuate shape, surrounded by a deformed-looking spray of sunshine. And then came the first of the "diamond ring" formations, lasting only a few seconds, and then the Totality, with the eerie black sun surrounded by the corona, and a sprinkling of stars clearly visible around the corona.

It lasted only a bit more than three minutes, but seemed simultaneously both longer and shorter. A nearby robin who had been singing stopped. You could see lights in a machine shed down the road. Everyone stared at the black sun, spellbound. And then, suddenly, I got a brief, momentary glimpse of a string of Bailey's Beads, before the second, much more spectacular "diamond ring" heralded the reappearance. The robin started singing again. We sat and watched the process run in reverse for 20 minutes or so, before we started driving back. Most of the others were leaving then as well. It is amazing to me how quickly humans can adjust to novelty.

How vanishingly rare must worlds be with a moon and sun the exact size for this to happen, and yet here we are, and the shadow passed within a few miles of where I live. A day to remember.