the moon’s orbit

A little over a month ago, G and I drove up to the top of a hill and watched the moon pass in front of the sun, something that last happened in similar precision eighteen years ago. For a few strange moments, the earth darkened, and then grew bright again. Light came in the form of crescent suns: tree leaves cast a multitude of overlapping crescent shadows onto the sidewalk. Aside from the event’s own miraculousness, it prodded the little miracles of everyday: afternoon sunlight, the existence of shadows, summer thicket.

For some reason I thought about this day all of a sudden after reading yet more words from Marilynne Robinson, who so often writes about God in a way that, to me, means something more about the divinity of every day: “The great narrative…begins at the beginning of all things and ends at the end of all things, and within the arc of it civilizations blossom and flourish, wither and perish. This would seem a great extravagance, all the beautiful children of earth lying down in final darkness. But no, there is that wondrous love to assure us that the world is more precious than we can possibly imagine…”

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