Yesterday I watched the passing of the moon between the earth and it’s sun. And for the briefest of moments the moon outdid the sun, and there was darkness upon the land. A breeze sprang up. The air cooled. Streetlights flickered on. The swallows went to roost. Then as quickly as it came, the darkness departed. The moon moved on, lifting tides, but no longer hiding the sun. At least from me. Others standing in different places were now getting their experience. An experience in the transitory nature of everything.

A sun flickers to life. A star. A planet forms from dust. A piece breaks away, becomes a moon. The world freezes. The world unfreezes. Mountains come. Mountains go. Volcanos erupt. Volcanos cool. A cell forms. It splits. It splits again. One day it develops legs. It walks. It breaths. Life. We come. We go. We live. We die. We love. We lose. We breath in. We breath out. We stand about watching the moon pass between the sun and our earth. One time in a million times.

And now that I am reminded, once again, that I am here for the briefest of times. I will take time to look about, as I did yesterday through the clouds, to try and remember what I saw. And I’ll walk about the yard to look at the spiderworts, my seasonal beauties, or the bluebonnets, or the coral sage, now blooming. I’ll remember a kiss, a hug, a song. And that remembering, that seeing, will be the magic of life, my life. Awareness. The odd gift. The gift of seeing, understanding, knowing that while one day I will no longer cast a shadow, until then I can marvel at my ability to do so. That I, too, can block out the sun.