I sure do!

I’m something of an astronomy nerd; you have to understand that the great solar eclipse of 8 April 2024 was something I’d been counting down to my whole life. In my native Dayton, Ohio, I’d gotten to witness the strange begrimed 40-watt sunlight (1) and dappled crescent shadows of the partial solar eclipses of 10 May 1994 and 21 August 2017, after having gotten a fleeting confirmatory glance through SolarShields under welder’s goggles: the exercise was a bit like hunting basilisks or Medusa.

Another point is that I’m acutely homesick for the seasonal markers of the place where I spent 90+% of my life: the violets and wild chives and flowering crabapples, and the two equinoctial yellows of Moraine honeylocusts: neon chartreuse foliage in the spring, and in the fall flaming saffron—turning to orange piles of cornflake crunch beneath the feet. Even the lawn weeds here are unfamiliar.

Until a couple years in advance—by which time it was too late—I had not anticipated that, by the time the total solar eclipse at long last came to Dayton, I would be gone; behold the southern Gulf Coast of Florida’s experience of the Grand Portentuous Celestial Event.

( Continue. )

Taken 4 March 2025 at 16:42 Eastern Standard Time, in the alley behind my apartment complex in full daylight. The adjacent utility pole (a sliver of the line is visible in the upper left corner) is probably the reason the tree was felled.



This one is a study in complex crunchy textures and value and hue variations of grey and gray. (Though extremely muted, it’s not achromatic, being mottled with the faintest tinges of yellow, brown, and green:

Taken at 5:52 PM EST 22 December 2023, this is something I really should’ve posted a year ago; I’m squeezing it under the wire just as the outgoing Lunar Year expires.

From the parking lot of my neighborhood Publix: the Rabbit prepares to hand the year over to the Dragon.