Because I agreed to dog-sit so family members could travel to the path of totality, my partner and I watched the eclipse (88 percent!) in an unusual environment (for city-dwellers, anyway): a peaceful green lawn bordered by a forest of budding trees and chirping birds. But a nearby neighbor, apparently oblivious to astronomical phenomena, bustled in his shrubbery with a roaring gas-powered leaf-blower as the light took on an odd, flat, dusky quality.
It made me wish I was back in the city, where I knew thousands of my neighbors were also looking at the sky, yelling about the occasion, taking photos, and cursing the clouds. I'm sure there are people who find mindful meaning in enjoying events like this solo, but I prefer them with lots of company. It's such a nice reminder of our shared humanity when we gather to exclaim at the sky, feeling a big togetherness in our smallness on this lonely little planet.
Now I'm back in the city working on this week's BSR stories. The chirping sparrows have to compete with sirens and revving engines and barking dogs and the ladies on the stoop across the street. But it's good to be home. Hope you enjoy this week's stories, including our review of some epic Brecht at the Wilma, a Wilmington exhibition of Black women in American art, and more.
Alaina Johns
BSR editor-in-chief