The Real and Surreal

 newly paved road
 even the rabbit leaps
 over the moon


Just back from the Southwest--New Mexico and southern Utah, the high desert, land of extraordinary light.  With the thin air and the brilliant, unfiltered light, perception alters. You see things you don't ordinarily see, and ordinary things look extraordinary and new.

To say nothing of the annular solar eclipse that I was lucky to witness, my first in two and a half decades. The last one I watched was in the Berkeley rose garden when my children were young.  A great spot to observe an extraordinary celestial event, but so was Albuquerque.

Through sheer serendipity, I chose May 20th to fly into the city. Everyone was abuzz with "eclipse fever."  My husband who was supposed to be there also managed to miss the flight (something to do with a backpack of necessary gadgets!)

The first place I wandered was Old Town where I found the Museum of Natural History. I paid my admission and entered. First thing I noticed was a big sign announcing WE ARE SOLD OUT OF VIEWING GLASSES. Alas, I must admit I had an ulterior motive in choosing that museum of one dedicated to art.

But they had great dinosaur exhibits and a nice planetarium show, another of my secret vices. If you can't see the constellations well, see them from a plush seat in a very dark room.

Afterwards, I found a volunteer who was dispensing flyers on the time of the eclipse, beginning, maximum, end. As I was reading the literature, a couple stood next to me and kept asking the volunteer for anywhere in town to get the "safe" glasses. Lo and behold, she pulled a white bag from behind her back (like a magician) and gave them a pair.

They walked away. She looked at me. I stared back with a pleading look in my eyes. "You're not with them?" she asked. "Nope."

Very reluctantly (because she was obviously saving her glasses for more worthy subjects) she gave me a pair. And I did put them to good use. I shared them with at least ten people that evening on the small hill in the city park across from the museums where we had a lovely eclipse-watching party. One man had two welder's lenses. A family had a long tube where they projected sun shadows onto the sidewalk. A Native American family allowed the sun to shine through a pinhole.

First, we noticed a small nib of the moon gone in the lower right corner. Then it grew to a large bite. Finally, it nearly covered the sun and we saw the ring of fire. Dramatic, beautiful. In between an ice cream selling cyclist pedaled by playing music. A memorable night.