Lunar Eclipse

“Wednesday night, February 20, between 9 P.M. and about 9:55,” the newscaster said. That’s an hour that even an old lady like me can handle.

My daughter Katie and I put on our boots and down jackets over our pajamas and went outside about 9:15. We felt our way down the steps, not wanting to ruin our night vision by turning on a light. Katie’s shape was no more than waving darkness against the slightly paler black of the snow. Stars sparkled like jewels, undimmed by the lights of any town, and the moon hung over the bare branches of our woods, full and round.

I have never seen “The man in the moon.” The face I see in its mountains and valleys has always seemed to be that of a woman—a gypsy woman in a long black cloak, or an Iranian woman with her chador swirling around her. The expression on her face is one of concern. I used to imagine she was searching for her children. But tonight her face was veiled. A pinkish-orange shadow of our world obscured hers. Katie and I spoke in awed whispers as we watched.

Eight below zero (or -23 Celsius) is too cold to stand outside for long even with a warm coat. We came back in to get warm, talked of the image of God and of space ships and aliens, then returned to check the progress of the earth’s shadow on the face of the moon. We made three trips into the frozen night before we put away our coats and went to bed, satisfied with the shared moments.