Scott figured out the exposure controls on his phone and took this picture. All I got was a blob of white light. The corona is still quite bright and phones have poor optics.

Leading up to and leading away from the time of totality, the light takes on an odd quality. In much the same fashion as just after a fierce rain storm, a thunderstorm, the light is oddly yellowish. It is dimmer of course but it is diminished and yellowish.

After the eclipse, young people’s conversation was about other things in their lives. My thoughts were about what I had just witnessed. I think I was a little awestruck and underneath the complete shadow, I felt a little sad. The sadness passed quickly as the awe took over.

After the eclipse shadow passed over us the newly blooming tulips where opening back up. The plants had closed their eyes for the night when the moon blocked out the sun.

Sunlight was dim but getting brighter. Little half moons appeared where the sunlight filtered through the bushes nearby.

Mostly though my thoughts went to Cheryl. Cheryl was fascinated with astrological phenomena. I was saddened that I could not enjoy the spectacle with her. I spent some time thinking of her reaction and discussing what we saw. We talked at length about how magnificent the corona appeared once the moon completely shut off the rays of the sun. She noted that she felt chilly when the shadow of the moon was directly overhead. (I am glad she did not need me to get her jacket from the car.) I told her that I noticed that the wind had kicked up somewhat . I supposed because the air was cooler. Many but not all of the birds stopped chattering to each other. I asked her if she had noticed the eerie sunset like quality to the horizon in all directions. This was unexpected for me.

Perhaps this is a way to mentally deal with grief, just simply talk to her. Later when I go to find the northern lights she can see them with me.

Carpe Diem.