I have been up for hours, listening to YouTube lectures on the collapse of ancient empires (the end of the Bronze Age, the end of Roman Britain). In both, people stop writing. Hmm.
Every so often, I've taken a break to head outside into the chilly dark to view the eclipse.
I don't have the best camera on my phone in terms of taking pictures at night. When I took this picture, the moon was actually just a sliver, while the picture makes it look much earlier in the eclipse. I got to see the full eclipse, but the moon slipped beyond the horizon, or maybe just behind clouds, as it came out of eclipse.
Every time there's a lunar eclipse, I think that I won't bother looking. It takes hours, after all. And then, if it's an early morning eclipse, I say, "Well, I'm up anyway." I go outside, and I'm bewitched.
I've been sorting cloth for the upcoming quilt retreat that will be the bulk of the rest of my week. I've been looking at storm predictions. While I no longer own property in Florida, and while I know it's not likely to form into something truly dreadful, I still feel a knot in my stomach. I'm blaming my anxiety on my childhood, hearing Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" on constant repeat, that warning about the power of November storms ringing in my ears.
It is election day, but this election season has felt endless, so it's hard to remember that this day might be decisive. Of course, we might not know it's decisive for weeks. I'm not giving in to the panic of some of my compatriots. Listening to lectures about the collapse of ancient civilization gives both comfort and pause.
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