It sounds like the title of a good vampire novel, right? But it happened this morning at 6am. The last lunar eclipse of the year, a nice dramatic one, where the moon slowly disappeared in Earth's shadow only to start glowing, well, if not blood-red, at least mahogany burgundy.
There are some amazing photos of it online (such as the one above,) but the thing is, taking pictures of astral events takes a fancy-pants camera, which I don't have. I tried snapping a shot with my phone, but it came out pathetic. A smudgy, tiny dot, grainy and insignificant. I looked from my screen to the eerie, imposing sight in the sky. Lightening bugs and lightening.
There was meaning there, in that failed attempt to photograph the blood moon. Sometimes we can't capture amazing sights, we have to accept that they come, that they will pass, and to treasure that ephemeral moment. New studies have shown that we remember less when we snap a picture. It is as if the act of creating a lasting image erases our brain's need and desire to hold on to the image on its own.
So there's no photo in my photo collection of the lunar eclipse. But the memory of that pregnant moon, hanging low on the horizon, slowly turning to rust, will stay with me for a long time.
(Photo by Ross D. Franklin, AP photos)