Planets and Parents

An eclipse is a contradictory experience,
incomprehensible in scale.
Massive celestial bodies,
millions of miles away,
sweeping a circle of night across the Earth.

Darkness falls, and you are encircled by sunset on every horizon.
Nature herself observes the gravity of the moment
falling to a portentous hush.

And yet, you are compelled to witness every moment,
its passing as inevitable as its occurrence.
As the seconds march by you become acutely aware of the present,
slipping away.
You soak it in, bathe in the wonder,
but it is all happening
at once
and what you miss is gone forever.

How dreadful, that something so grand
and unstoppable
can feel so fragile
and precious.

So too, the terror
of parenthood.

A new mind, unfolding before you,
growing outwards and taking shape;
and every passing moment a sacred burden
to bear witness to the death of what came before,
what will never be again;
to bask in the delight
of the new;
to guide, without imposing;
to endure the agony, the apprehension, anticipating
the leap across the chasm
that you have set
before them.

And the beauty
of the inexorable,
inaccelerable
discovery.