Like Snowflakes Only Not

Total eclipses are like snowflakes. No two are exactly alike.

Mind you, my personal sample size is two. The one in Kentucky in 2017 and the one last week which we viewed from Muncie, but everything I read agrees. Each one is a very individual event.

Two things snowflakes and total eclipses have in common is they are awe-inspiring — and predictable.

Now with snowflakes there’s an element of chance as to how much and exactly when, but when it come to eclipses scientists can predict them the exact second years in advance. Because science works. Four years ago at the start of the lockdown my wife Jennie and I sent a letter to our grandson Jack in Muncie with a chart of the 2024 eclipse’s path, along with a promise we would see it together.

Last week we kept faith. Joining us were Jack’s parents and both sets of grandparents, including us, as well as his uncle Francisco, some members of his family, and a couple dogs.

The last ten days the weather report for the Big Event was iffy. And that morning’s forecast called for thick clouds and no visibility. However as the day wore on things stayed sunny. A few minutes before First Contact we gathered on the driveway and took our places on two rows of lawn chairs in Jacob’s driveway. Except me. I stood. I was too nervous.

And it happened. Like I said, science.

Thanks to our special glasses we could look right at the sun and watch as bit by bit the she disappeared behind the encroaching moon. It got darker, and just a little purple. The street lights came on. Birds chattered nervously.

As the moment approached I set my phone’s timer for three minutes and forty-seven seconds, the predicted time of totality predicted for Muncie. Finally there was only the tiniest bead of light at the edge of the sun, and then it was totally swallowed by the moon.

Down went the glasses.

We were looking straight at the sun. The corona surrounded her like unruly hair. We could see a solar flare. She looked ravenously alive. Darkness settled in

I pointed out the planets Venus and Jupiter shining brightly below and above the sun. While I had been hoping to see a comet near Jupiter there were just enough wispy clouds to make that impossible.

It didn’t matter. I was looking into infinite space. Any pretense of believing we were the center of the universe was impossible.

As I counted down the final seconds I reminded everyone, “Look out for the diamond!” It’s a rare sight, and you have to be lucky to catch it. Suddenly, during the final seconds, straight rainbow shafts of light burst out in three directions, like the glint off the Queen’s new ring – and just as quickly was gone.

Abruptly blinding sunlight wiped this brief glimpse into reality clean from the sky. It was no use wishing we could repeat the experience. The fact is you can’t get there from here.

For a while we all hung out in the driveway, chattering happily with that afterglow you feel in the locker room after the final game before we go our separate ways. Smiles. Laughter.

Joy.

The writer Anne Dillard once wrote the difference between a partial and a total eclipse is like the difference between kissing a man and marrying him, or riding an airplane or jumping out of one.

She’s right.