In less than a minute, the moon took on an orange hue as it rose over the Wet Mountains and shone down on Main Street.
A poem written by W.S. Merwin and published today on the Poetry Foundation website says it better than I can. In particular the lines, “We are running out of the glass rooms / with our mouths full of food to look at the sky / and say thank you.”
Walking from the new Second Street Kitchen on Sunday where we dined on scrumptious food prepared by Marian Williams, we were most definitely looking at the sky as we made our way to Dark Skies Observatory and the telescope donated by Jim Bradburn.
Not to diminish the natural phenomenon of the night sky and the eclipse, but for me, the most amazing sight was the number of people who came to The Bluff. Standing in awe and rubbing shoulders with their neighbors, they came with blankets and pillows and lounge chairs and cameras. More than a few brought telescopes from home.
Yes, the observatory was the draw, but the sky watchers spread out the entire north/south length of The Bluff, and the number of people, united in their wonder, coalesced into one star-struck organism. It was “a happening.”
What a pleasant break from the divisiveness of politics!
Like every other leaf-peeper, I’ve been out with my camera catching the golden Aspen before a storm litters the leaves. So many shades of green! So many shades of gold and buff and tan. I did not have the vocabulary. Unable to describe the varied green blocks of freshly mown hay fields interspersed with patchwork blocks of a drier landscape, I went to ACE. Surely I could match the landscape to the color swatches at the hardware store.
Apple tart 2062, Caribou 2064, Sandpoint 2066, and Golden Wheat 2068 were all close color candidates. Based on these descriptions, I hope you can see what I saw. You can’t? The names mean nothing to you? The Golden Wheat is darker than it should be. That piece of information should be helpful. As for the others, go to Ace. Check out the Clark Kensington collection.