In the last few days before today’s total solar eclipse, I couldn’t resist checking to see if Mom had ever written a poem about this all-too-rare occasion in nature.

Sure enough, she had. But, as often as she wrote about the moon, that’s not what this poem from 1971 was about.

Eclipse

I saw two wagons passing by the sea:
one full of letters from my love to me.
The other held a cargo of such strange design
that I could only pray it was not mine.

The drivers kept their heads down as they passed;
no word between them, nor a nod at last.
A rain was ready but it had not come.
The sky was silent, and the water, dumb.

The letter wagon then began to burn.
I called the driver but he did not turn.
The other wagon stopped; the driver came
to where I stood and spoke to me by name.

“This is your fortune. Come and claim it now.”
He freed the horse and mounted it somehow.
My hand was trembling and my heart was weak;
I begged him answers but he would not speak.

Then it was raining, and I looked to see
whatever fortune waited there for me.
I raised the cover, and my eyes went blind
to see the ashes love had left behind.

~ Joan Vayo January 18, 1971

I vaguely remember a childhood eclipse in the 1960s, with boxes transformed into pin-hole cameras.

This afternoon, Gary and I spent the “time of totality” on our deck, as carpenter bees buzzed around us excitedly. The cooling temperatures as the tiny moon blocked out the mighty sun was twice the reason for a shiver. Birds celebrated the return of daylight.

And, later, I heard from son James. In Ohio, he and Joanna drove for nearly an hour to get close to the center of the path for the best viewing. He noticed something we didn’t: a 360° sunset.

Mom would have liked that.

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“Eclipse” ©1971 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

Solar Eclipse photo courtesy J Lippold.

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