From there the eclipse seemed so distant, a darkening, blurred patch of grey-black flecked at the edges with the glow of swallowed window light. Above the cloud line I could see the Umbra rolling through it's orbit, gathering form in a widening arc, it's circle approaching in silence like the shadow of some vast sea creature gliding over the sands of a shallow sea. Eternally there ahead of me, an outline ridged in light, transparent to touch, but as substantial as the ground beneath me and as distant as the shadow upon which I stood. The night was closer now, in it's darkness lay it's grace, in it's cloud a veil to cover me. What had been so enduring in daylight now dissolved, it's borders smudged with the faint tint of memory's fog. Across the sky I could see him, the dark centre fading but the edge still holding, no longer as vivid, yet still visible through the haze.
Mark Kimber, 1994