On April 8, 2024, I saw my first total solar eclipse. I just happen to live at the very edge of totality, so the sun was only fully obscured by the moon for a couple of seconds. Still, it left a strong impression on me.
My first thought as the moon crept across the sun was how small I felt, how insignificant. It’s like I suddenly realized I’m just on a ball of mud hurtling through the universe, the full scope of which we will never know. Even our relatively simply solar system is like a ridiculously convoluted clock, and I’m only now becoming aware of the vast complexity of the machinery.
My wife and I experienced all of this as sat on our new deck, watching the spectacle thought eclipse glasses. It was so strange to watch the final sliver of orange light disappear (well, it was only orange because we were seeing this through the proper eyewear). Even without such glasses, it is no wonder this spectacle has been making humans freak the fuck out throughout history.
When that final sliver of light disappeared, I immediately took off my glasses, as it is supposed to be safe to watch without protective wear during full occlusion. But we only had a couple of seconds of totality. The light at the lower left of the disc was an intense, piercing white. The light around the rest of the disc was ethereal. I freaked out for a just a second, thinking I had just shot my vision all to hell.
I have often heard the peculiar darkness near and at totality can be unnerving. Indeed, it wasn’t like any other kind of light I had seen out of doors before. The closest analogy I can think of is the day-for-night technique used in old movies and television. It was as if a strong neutral density filter had been placed over reality, completely jacking the contrast. I noticed the leaves of the honeysuckle bushes in the backyard: the light on the leaves was almost as intense as it was in full sun, but the unlit parts of the leaves, and the branches, were much darker. The sky became a steely, gray-blue of such a uniform shade that it was like the light was coming from everywhere at once instead of from a single source.
Some other aspects of the eclipse I had heard about before, but which were so strange to experience first-hand, was the birds and the temperature. I didn’t even realize the birds had stopped making any sounds until the first one braved some chirps. Even in the pitch-black pre-dawn in which I write this, the birds are chattering their heads off, when the considerably greater light during totality shut them up. As for the temperature, I was surprised by how much cooler it got, even though I had seen the hourly weather forecast earlier, where it showed a curious dip of a couple of degrees in the middle of the afternoon before getting warmer again.
I was overwhelmed by the experience of seeing what will likely be the only total eclipse I will ever witness, unless I travel to see another. The next one in the area I live in won’t be until 2099.
Unlikely earlier cultures (and some people today who hold some curious beliefs), I don’t attribute any supernatural or prognostic aspects to this phenomenon. Still, in a year where the 13- and 17-year cicada broods will coincide, and there’s a presidential election, it is a bit difficult not to.