There’s something about standing in the glow and cosmic magnitude of an eclipse that quiets the noise inside.

I wasn’t expecting to feel so present in the moment—tilted back, face to the sky, the sun playing tricks through slivers of shadow and light. But there it was: a hush, a moment of clarity, a reminder.

This photo wasn’t staged or planned. Just me, looking up—eyes hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, sun streaming down in golden beams like a crown. The world around me softened. And even though I was grounded in that spot, wrapped in the early fall air, it felt like I was briefly suspended between earth and sky.

Sometimes we need proof that we exist inside something bigger. Something grand and at the same time ephemeral. The eclipse gave me that gift, if only for a few minutes. A pause. A reset. A glimmer of awe.

And then, life rolled back in.

But I’m keeping this photo close—not because it’s flattering or filtered just right (though the colors do something magic), but because it captured a version of me that was still, centered, and reminded of the magic around us.

We all need those moments. May we catch them when we can.

“We are an impossibility in an impossible universe.”
— Ray Bradbury