Sharing a lunar eclipse

I had remembered that there was going to be a lunar eclipse and then forgot it again, when my daughter called unexpectedly last night.

"Quick, Mom," she said breathlessly, "go outside at look at the moon!"

I jumped up, phone in hand and went out on the deck. We both stood outside, looking up at the shadow of the earth creeping across a full moon, separated by thousands of miles, but sharing the same vision in the night sky.

I remembered the summer nights when she was small, glow-in-the-dark star charts in hand, picking out the constellations for her and telling stories about the birth and death of stars, the cold vacuum of space, the infinite distances in the universe. We'd snuggle under a blanket and talk about ancient times and ancient peoples, when humans watched the sky for their only entertainment, because they had no television or electric lights or books to read! Then we'd laugh and go inside for hot cocoa and bed when we were done looking and marvelling.

"I can still see a tiny glimmer on the edge," she said.

"It's completely covered, as far as I can tell," I replied, "but your eyes are younger than mine, so I'll trust your observation."

Maybe she was breathless because she was walking home from Trader Joe's with a bag of groceries, but I prefer to think that it was also an expression of long-ago, child-like wonder. Her impulsive phone call to share it with me was a surprising and precious gift.