UK Eclipse

Today, there was a total eclipse in America. Not so over here… but there was certainly something going on in the air.

As the day went on, I grew increasingly tired. Unable to concentrate, having trouble doing much of anything.

This gradually turned into a terrible attack of anxiety and depression, which had been threatening all day. Himself wasn’t immune either.

We resolved to head into the village for a quick ‘hit and run’ (not literally) to the shops, to find something cheering for tea. 

Heading outside, the silence was eerie. The light was bright enough at 7.30pm, but strangely yellowish. The air felt thick, cloying and heavy. Nobody else was about.

As we returned up the hill (mission successful), clouds hid both sun and moon. But as we turned towards home, there was a glimmer of sky and some sunbeams. By the time we stepped out of the car, the eclipse would be over – and the air felt amazingly fresh. I could breathe again! 

It’s still happening. My head feels lighter, sounds and visuals brighter, thoughts clearer. Something has changed as the world turned.

As I couldn’t take a picture of the eclipse (and as many have asked), here’s a picture of the extremely pink circular vortex of my in-progress knitting (atop a sleeping Fen). Which feels even softer to my touch now, too. Creativity in yarn and in words here, for your consideration.

We bear witness to the movements of the universe, just along for the ride…


(Yarn is a OOAK by CountessAblaze, Pattern is ‘Mint Latte’)



I call to the wind
Feel its touch on my face
And its breath through the leaves
As is mine.

I call to the sun
Feel the heat in my fingers
Life running through
Inside and out.

I call to the rain
Touch the full clouds above
Taste the damp in the air
And beneath my bare feet.

I call to the earth
Questing down, rooting deep
And unable to find words…
So I stand.

I reach, all around
Heart to soul, spirit to spirit
So different and yet

I see people stare.
They want to feel as I do.

And you know what?
You can.


Today, the hilltop is surrounded by a very thick fog. This isn’t actually that unusual here, given the river that runs nearby, but this feels different. According to the BBC, it’s due to intense smog and Saharan sand that’s blowing in from mainland Europe.

So this fog is a mixture of the usual moisture, as well as international debris… I can’t help feeling a little amazed by that, on several levels. Ultimately, it is tangible evidence that our world is very much connected, and our actions impinge on others. Awareness can only be a good outcome from this.

But more immediately, I’m feeling rather unwell as a result. I don’t have asthma, and I know others are no doubt suffering deeply, especially in the cities. For me, it’s more dizziness… literally ‘fogged’ thoughts, almost.

When it’s regular fog from the river, I welcome the blanket that surrounds my home. It’s calm and comforting, encouraging time for rest and contemplation. This is very different – the blanket is gritty and uncomfortable. The land seems aware that something is up; the birds are silent today, there’s no wind to move things… effects are being felt.

Perhaps that’s the direction our ponderings should take today, then. The fog will pass, but its lessons can be learned. Sometimes we can’t just charge ahead regardless of consequences, and our connection to our land (and air) is more present than we might think.