Most of all, it was festive.

Talked about, sought in groups, hyped. Drive somewhere far away. Worry about cloud cover.

What is not said: an effect not known elsewhere: the experiences from the other senses.  

Touch: the way the wind suddenly goes cold.  The growing grayness, every phase of a gray scale, seldom seen except in ink on paper. The three-dimensional meaning of opaque.

But most of all, sudden quiet by the animals, the bugs, the family dog, the noisy geese, the tiny birds.

A pause in all of life in which we realize the enormity of Rumi’s poem:

and the sun never says to the moon,  “ You owe me.”