April 8th, 2024, brought with it a solar eclipse that stretched across North America. Unlike the total eclipse I experienced back in 2017, this one would only be partial from my location, but even so, it was an opportunity to look up and appreciate the wonder of the cosmos. That first full solar eclipse in 2017 remains etched in my memory. I was in an open field in North Georgia on a warm August day, surrounded by friends and family. Naturally, I took on the role of the designated science teacher of the group, something I always relish. There’s something deeply gratifying about sharing knowledge, especially about the wonders of science, with anyone willing to listen.
I prepped everyone with what to expect, reminding them of the dos and don’ts during an eclipse. When totality finally arrived, the world transformed. I felt the temperature drop; the sky darkened just enough to reveal a few stars and planets. Crickets began to chirp, mistaking the sudden twilight for evening. 
It was as if the sun and moon were engaged in a cosmic dance, perfectly synchronized. The visual of the event played tricks on my mind, almost as if I had stepped into a science fiction movie. The sheer beauty of it left me in awe. I was mesmerized, unable to look away until it all finally came to an end. I promised myself then and there that I would chase the experience again in the future—even if it meant traveling to find totality. It’s always worth it.
Fast forward to this year’s eclipse, and while I debated making the trip to a location where totality would be visible, that plan didn’t come to fruition. Instead, my friend John joined me at home to witness the partial eclipse. We struggled to find my old pair of solar eclipse glasses, but John managed to get a pair, I think from our mutual friend, Miles. We sat outside in my backyard, shaded by the trees, watching the partial eclipse play out through the shadows cast by the leaves. 
As the sun dimmed slightly, it was as if nature had placed an Instagram filter over the entire landscape. The sensation in the air was similar to what I had experienced during my first eclipse—there was a calmness, a kind of stillness, with the gentle sound of the wind rustling the leaves.
At one point, I remember glancing up only to notice a carpenter bee hovering just within arm’s reach. It buzzed quietly, staying still in one spot as if it, too, was captivated by the moment. I slowly reached out my hand, just beneath it, feeling the soft air stirred by its wings. The bee didn’t move away, almost as if it was curious about me, just as I was curious about it.
Eclipses are special. They serve as a gentle reminder from the universe to pause, to look up, and to appreciate the world around us. These rare moments remind us of how interconnected we are with the cosmos, how fragile and beautiful life is. I feel an immense sense of gratitude for every eclipse I get to witness. They are gifts, fleeting yet profound, reminding me to slow down and be fully present in these celestial moments.
