Eclipse: Explored!
This is the partial eclipse of 1999, when light cloud made photography possible - it was too bright here this morning to risk anything similar!
Eclipse on Bredon Hill.
In the darkness before the dawn
they climbed the track from the villages
beneath the hill to the land’s rim.
Seated on straw bales on creaking carts,
in the morning’s chill, in expectation of a sight
to remember all their lives.
Waiting for the ending of the night,
quietly they sat, regretting warm beds, until the growing light
falling on field and hedge awoke the birds,
greeting with song the rising sun,
golden, above the valley’s edge.
Then the moon passed, eating away the sun’s gleam,
and the people and the birds fell silent.
Slowly the light faded until the dark moon
hid the sun from view:
a perfect fit, leaving only a shining halo.
Then a glowing arc appeared,
the people breathed again, and as the day returned
the birds once more began their morning song.
On this same hill we waited, watching
the wind-swept sky, catching a glimpse of sun,
the pale circle already partly hidden by the black moon.
Our eyes followed the racing clouds
so the sun reappeared in an unexpected place.
Then the darkness rose from the valley and the sight was lost.
We walked on, passing the place
where the people gathered so long ago.
Later, the clouds thinned again and the sun returned,
two-horned, like a strange version of the moon itself,
waning, upon its back.
The time of omen, of ambiguity, passed.
as the eclipse drew to its end
the sky once more was grey and overcast.
We recalled then the people from the past,
on this hill, in the darkness, waiting.
Some who were children then
perhaps, are still alive and remember.
Published in Reach 101, March 2006, by Indigo Dreams Press.
Eclipse: Explored!
This is the partial eclipse of 1999, when light cloud made photography possible - it was too bright here this morning to risk anything similar!
Eclipse on Bredon Hill.
In the darkness before the dawn
they climbed the track from the villages
beneath the hill to the land’s rim.
Seated on straw bales on creaking carts,
in the morning’s chill, in expectation of a sight
to remember all their lives.
Waiting for the ending of the night,
quietly they sat, regretting warm beds, until the growing light
falling on field and hedge awoke the birds,
greeting with song the rising sun,
golden, above the valley’s edge.
Then the moon passed, eating away the sun’s gleam,
and the people and the birds fell silent.
Slowly the light faded until the dark moon
hid the sun from view:
a perfect fit, leaving only a shining halo.
Then a glowing arc appeared,
the people breathed again, and as the day returned
the birds once more began their morning song.
On this same hill we waited, watching
the wind-swept sky, catching a glimpse of sun,
the pale circle already partly hidden by the black moon.
Our eyes followed the racing clouds
so the sun reappeared in an unexpected place.
Then the darkness rose from the valley and the sight was lost.
We walked on, passing the place
where the people gathered so long ago.
Later, the clouds thinned again and the sun returned,
two-horned, like a strange version of the moon itself,
waning, upon its back.
The time of omen, of ambiguity, passed.
as the eclipse drew to its end
the sky once more was grey and overcast.
We recalled then the people from the past,
on this hill, in the darkness, waiting.
Some who were children then
perhaps, are still alive and remember.
Published in Reach 101, March 2006, by Indigo Dreams Press.