Eclipse

According to Google, on June 11, 2012, "Eclipse" refers to (in order of algorithmically determined relevance/importance):

by Eric Mack

1. A film in the "Twilight" series.

2. A project aiming to provide a universal toolset for (software) development.

3. An astronomical event that occurs when an astronomical object is temporarily obscured.

4. A manufacturer specializing in car navigation and audio systems.

5. The most efficient jet on the planet.

6. A novel in the "Twilight" series.

7. A small recording company

8. A special edition 2-disc DVD set of the film in the "Twilight" series.

9. A Blu-Ray version of the film in the "Twilight" series.

10. A regular edition, single DVD of the film in the "Twilight" series.

Twice

by Charles Clayton

There was a solar eclipse when I was in the first grade. It must have been wintertime because we stayed in our second story classroom and watched quietly as the morning sky darkened and the clouds turned fiery orange and red. The entire experience exists in my mind as a single moment in that room, gazing through the window panes at a kind of light I'd never seen before: Ashen and gray, yet strangely luminous.

Our teacher told us that solar eclipses happened every few years so I expected to see one again, but never did. Seems you have to be in the right place at the right time to witness the spectacle. Eclipses came and went, and I read about them in the newspaper or saw clips on the television, but the experience eluded me.

33 years later, the stars aligned—or one star, and one planet and its moon, and the life trajectory of a single human on that planet—and I found myself at the proper latitude and longitude at the proper time of year. The setting couldn't have been better: The first days of summer vacation, on a front porch with my wife and child, surrounded by friends, right at the foot of the Southern Rocky Mountains.

Everything was in place, and before we knew it the eclipse was happening. Golden rays radiated through scattered puffs of clouds. The orbs lined up and the light faded into that crisp, ashen hue….the exact same light I remembered from my childhood.

Near the peak of the eclipse, I walked into the backyard and gazed at the mountains as they silently basked in the ghostly light. The mountains had seen it all before, and would see it again. I'd like to think I'll be around next time too, but I might not. That moment on the porch may be the last memory I'll ever have of that otherworldly light—the rare light of a moon shadow.

Eclipse

by Johanna DeBiase

I am the sun.

I spin in the world of rays --

rainbow prisms across nursery walls,

glares from pinwheels on garden posts,

beams stretched through rain clouds.

I am the mid-afternoon light

that reminds them why they live here

that makes the plein air painters sigh

and the poets toast.

At twilight, I put on a show, paint the

clouds with shadows, steal the

promise of June flowers,

splatter their faces with impermanence.

I am the sun. I grow them like

eager buds, but I can burn them, too.

I know the spot, between their

shirt hem and waistband,

or the place behind their ears

where their spine ends its traverse

across their neck.

I am the sun. They will not

stare into me. They hide behind

brimmed hats and dark glasses --

rims around their eyes

where I colored their faces.

Only once (per season)

do I disappear from them

a little trick I do with the moon

and they laugh and dance, but

they also remember.

.

The earth. The earth is their

humming sphere and they

labor for it – their sheltered souls,

their juvenile antics.

I am the sun

the way they see in the light,

the way I am blind in their night,

yet the galaxy burns for me.