I reached for the familiar, and just kept falling

We stood in the shade at the park, having gotten up early to make the thirty mile trek to totality. Two days of driving lay behind us–two days, and a year of anticipation, of solar glasses for Christmas, of plans and contingency plans depending upon where the skies would be the clearest, of clearing schedules, and maintaining a firm hold on flexibility–because I am a lover of the skies, my childhood rooted in the awe of the cosmos.

We lingered in the shade because it was hot, the RV behind us, the dogs safe in their play yard. Twelve families consisting of three generations had rented the park shelter beside us and had gathered from three states. The couple parked behind us drove in from just thirty miles away. Dogs played and fretted at being left out. Kids practiced with their parents on how to use the glasses. People staked their claim on prime viewing with chairs and blankets. The internet vanished, and no one cared.

We waited, all there for a singular reason, our stories as varied as the license plates. People ventured from the shade to peer up at the sun for a few seconds with their glasses, then retreated. Pinhole viewers and special filters on binoculars were tried out and set aside. Kids got bored. The star geeks and casual viewers mingled and chatted. “Where did you come in from?” “We drove two hours.” We drove two days.” “Do you know where the bathrooms are?” “Do you have any connection at all?”

Finally a call went up. “There! The top right!”

We all looked up, every single one of us, and the word was “Wow.” A chunk of the sun was gone. Absolute black. Kids cried, wanting to see and having to wait. Tantrums, fussing, and then they got bored again, and retreated into the shade–because it was hot.

It grew quiet. More conversation. “I’ve never seen a total eclipse.” “Do you think it’s darker yet?” Late comers drove through, desperate for a place to park, making the rest of us smug. A quarter mile down, the ball field sprouted tents where organized viewing and experts kept kids busy. A quarter mile up, free-spirits gathered in an open, wild field to commune on a deeper level. But it was quiet in our little turn-around site in “the middle” where three generations of family, a local couple, and two dreamers with their dogs sat with their feet edging the light because the sun was too intense.

The orange crescent of the sun through the filtered glasses grew smaller, more pointy. The round shadow of the moon atop it grew larger. Kids whined about being hungry, dogs got underfoot and barked. Quick forays were made into the sun for a glimpse at progression. “This is what they’ll get in Detroit.” “This is how much I saw last time.” “How often are you taking a picture?”

But then . . . the ground began to look odd, as if seeing the world through a filter. The air took on a dark, almost transparent hue as the wavelengths reaching us shifted. A call went up. “Look at the hood of that car! You can see the crescent in the shadows of the leaves!” But in all honesty it took some imagination. Slowly, people filtered out of the shade, and with a shock, I realized that quite suddenly, it wasn’t hot anymore. After years of shunning the sun, I could stand under it and not feel its heat.

The crickets began to sing and the dogs lay down, bellies up to the sky to soak in what heat remained. The shadows of the leaves showed thousands of crescents, no imagination needed. Necks craned, we waited poised as the sliver of orange amber narrowed down, and down, and down . . . until it was almost gone . . .

Just before the light left, voice exploded from every throat, an unstoppable sound of exhilaration. It rose from our chests, joining those at the tents at the ball field, then gathered the shouts from the distant field before continuing to spill on across the nation as the sun . . . was suddenly gone.

Every glass and filter dropped. As one, we shouted as we stared up at a color of white we had never seen, wispy and etherial. A black nothing hung where the sun had been. My awareness expanded, and I reached, grasping for something I might know, falling, and falling, and falling, as if taking a breath that never stopped as I looked for common ground with every last past moment of my life . . . and failing.

For two minutes, we stood as one in a new state of existence, most quickly gaining a foothold, and yet I still fell within my mind, trying to absorb the cascading of otherness that suffused and filled me. The sound, the feel of the air, the lack of sensation on my skin.

And then . . . a tiny pinprick of the most pure light that ever existed, of ultimate clarity and definition, was suddenly there.

For an instant it hung at the edge of the black, and still I fell, trying to grasp it.

In another breath the glimpse into infinity was gone, washed out by the yellow wavelengths as the diamond ring took precedence and no longer could we stare as one at the sky.


It was done. My long fall ended as the comfortable existence of warm yellow light expanded amid the exuberant shouts and cheers that flowed from west to east, an unstoppable declaration of experience.

But I remember the instant of light of undefined purity and unexplainable clarity. And I wait. For what? I don’t know, but I wait.

Kim Harrison
August 21, 2017





Filed under Drama Box

22 responses to “I reached for the familiar, and just kept falling

  1. Wow that description is a writer’s experience of something almost magical to the nth degree. It is an eerie feeling isn’t it. No wonder it caused so much awe and consternation in olden times

  2. Amber

    If I were to write my experience of the eclipse (no where near as beautiful as yours!):
    Hello, Public Library. No, sorry, we ran out of glasses last week.
    Hello, Public Library. No, sorry, we don’t have any glasses left.
    Hello, Public Library, No, sorry, we don’t have any left but you can make a pinhole camera from a cereal box.

    Rinse & repeat.

  3. This brought tears to my eyes, i wish I had your way with words

  4. Linda Craft

    I felt like I was there! Thank you for sharing.

  5. Miranda Haigh

    Beautifully written Kim. It makes me wonder if you were in my hometown of Casper Wyoming. It was the best place to view it 🙂 It was absolutely breathtaking from here 💜 Thank you for sharing.

  6. naturallydotty

    This description is gold.

  7. This….this is exactly how it felt to see the sun washed away and replaced with the dark orb of the moon. We had totality here. It was surreal with the nighttime, noisy bugs coming out and the street lamps popping on. So beautiful! Was glad we got to see it pan out here as well.

  8. My heart just smiled.
    We only experienced 84% here in South Florida. Thank you for letting me live vicariously through you.

  9. Sometimes when you write I don’t realize I’m reading till it is over and the picture in my mind disappears. Thank you for sharing. It is beautifully written; the normalcy you created grounded the piece as sure as gravity and set the scene for the surreal experience to lift the reader beyond its force.

  10. Jhen Fry

    one word.


    Thank you for sharing your experience of such a profound celestial event. Really, thank you. I live in Santa Cruz California. We have so many little microclimates here, in between the Redwoods and the sea. I live in an area close to the beach, and we get the foggy climate. The skies here were fogged up until late afternoon. Visibility was joke. I could more sense it than see it. So your description is especially pleasing. I felt as though I were there, hot, face turned to the sky.

    You are just freakin’ awesome.

  11. Cale H

    There was only 80% of an eclipse up here in Canada

  12. David Knisely

    David K., Crystal River, FL
    At our eclipse party we sat outside, dined on liverwurst and crackers and watched the rain clouds cover the sun. We thought that was exciting….until we saw the true eclipse through your eyes. Thanks

  13. Kathy Snyder

    Thank you for transporting me there. It truly felt like I was right there with you sharing the awe-inspiring experience.
    I love your style!! (If only I could use MY words to more adequately convey my feelings when I read your work!)

  14. Ed

    What a beautiful description of the experience. Thanks for sharing.

  15. This is BEAUTIFULLY written… you should write for a living… 😉

    Melodie Luckett

  16. Sarah Zeeb

    This is the best description I have heard yet. I can’t wait til 2024 I am already planning to catch it.

  17. Vampyre

    Thank you, that was almost magical. I battled with clouds but managed to see most of it.

    I guess you’re already making plans for 2024.🤓

  18. YvonneD

    That was beautiful!

  19. Jennifer Vanderkamp

    Wow. I feel like I was there with you. Thank you for sharing your magical experience.

  20. Carolyn Kieft

    This gave me chills!

    I saw it all.
    I felt it all.


  21. Very nice! I ran outside and just looked around at our world in shadow. I swear it was something out of a dream. Not that I would want to exist in it too long, but it sure was a short visit.

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