snow trumps the eclipse
My heart seemed to skip a beat when the alarm on my phone went off at 2:45 this morning. For a few seconds I felt disoriented and confused. Why was my alarm going off three and a half hours earlier than usual? Oh, right. I wanted to see if the skies had cleared enough to catch the lunar eclipse.
I'd gone to bed dressed appropriately for getting out of it when the house was a bit colder--long-johns and a tunic. It made the prospect of going out at that hour slightly more palatable. I got up; pulled on fleece pants, a hoodie, and my toggled duffel coat; grabbed my keys; shoved my feet in my snow boots; and went out into the dark.
As one might guess, it was mostly quiet. There were tracks through the snow leading down my street to the Common, but no one else seemed to be up and about. The only noise was the wind through the trees, the intermittent rattle of the road signs flexing in a sudden gust, the fasteners on the American flag clanging against the pole in the green. As I crossed North Washington into the square, I saw a white van pass up Hawthorne, pull onto Brown, and disappear. Then I was alone.
Of course, the whole time I was walking from my door to the park, my eyes were fixed to the sky for any hint of a break in the clouds. I thought that maybe the unobstructed view of the sky from the center of the Common would yield something. No such luck. The street lamps and the lights ringing the green all reflected off the cloud cover in deep purple and navy-gray. If there was a suggestion of red, it was as much due to wishful thinking as the actual eclipse.
I was determined to make the most of being awake, however; so I took pictures:
I'd gone to bed dressed appropriately for getting out of it when the house was a bit colder--long-johns and a tunic. It made the prospect of going out at that hour slightly more palatable. I got up; pulled on fleece pants, a hoodie, and my toggled duffel coat; grabbed my keys; shoved my feet in my snow boots; and went out into the dark.
As one might guess, it was mostly quiet. There were tracks through the snow leading down my street to the Common, but no one else seemed to be up and about. The only noise was the wind through the trees, the intermittent rattle of the road signs flexing in a sudden gust, the fasteners on the American flag clanging against the pole in the green. As I crossed North Washington into the square, I saw a white van pass up Hawthorne, pull onto Brown, and disappear. Then I was alone.
Of course, the whole time I was walking from my door to the park, my eyes were fixed to the sky for any hint of a break in the clouds. I thought that maybe the unobstructed view of the sky from the center of the Common would yield something. No such luck. The street lamps and the lights ringing the green all reflected off the cloud cover in deep purple and navy-gray. If there was a suggestion of red, it was as much due to wishful thinking as the actual eclipse.
I was determined to make the most of being awake, however; so I took pictures: