I had a doctor’s appointment at the same time as the eclipse, so I was shocked on the drive to Saratoga to see almost no cars on the busy road there. Our busy world emptied out to look at the sun.
I was listening to the radio and hearing the excitement. When I pulled up in the parking lot, a young couple—Skidmore kids, I think—approached me as I got out of the car.
“Did you see the Eclipse?,” they asked, concerned. “No,” I said, “I was driving.”
“Here,” the young man said, “borrow ours.” He showed me how to put his protective glasses on over mine, and I saw the very end of the eclipse, which took my breath away. So did his kindness.
The was black, with a crescent yellow around the sun’s right side. I only looked at it for seconds, but I was as touched by these kid’s generosity as I was by the eclipse itself.
When I got home, I had a photo of Robin, my granddaughter, watching from the subway as she came home from school. The eclipse was beautiful in itself, but it reminded me once again how different people are when they actually do something together and face to face. I stopped on the way home for some ice cream, and Maria and I sat outside until the wind got cold. She looked for shadows but didn’t find any.
Emma said Robin really got into it. No surprise.