Circling the soccer field during a lunar eclipse

 We come out after dinner, to the dark and cool of late autumn. Out for Air, and Steps, after a long day of screens. 

The moon we notice first -- high in the sky and looking nearly full, sharply outlined against the darkness all the way around -- but with a softness in its border at the bottom right. 

"Oh," I say, remembering. "Wasn't there a lunar eclipse tonight?" 

We study the moon, walking, watching it disappear behind the thick branches of the fig trees lining the sidewalk to the south of the soccer field. 

Turning to the east side of the field, the moon appears again between the elm trees reaching into the sky. 

"Lunar eclipse, or not quite full?" 

A rustle of animal. A man walking a dog. 

We turn at the north side, native eucalypts, and recall lunar eclipses past. 

"If it is an eclipse, it will take a long time," I said. 

West side, Tim turns off towards home for a meeting with Europe. 

"Go around again with me?" I ask Jonathan. But he retreats to the yellow warmth of the house. The heater. 

On my own now, tracing the sidewalks around the field with my feet. The softness on the side of the moon seems to be spreading. 

A possum pauses in the shadows to watch me. Something swoops into a low hanging branch. Bat? But it perches rather than hangs. Frogmouth. I hear bats cackling in the row of figs. The moon is up and to the right. It can't be watched while walking without twisting to see. 

Rounding the field again I think, I'll go around another time. Let the moon watch over me. 

But the moon doesn't watch me. The streetlamps watch me, forming a cobbled path of light pools, yellow electric glow to yellow electric glow all around the field. A brushy tailed possum watches me, a fuzzy lump of misshapen darkness at the base of an elm tree. 

Turning my head, I can watch the moon. There. In the tops of the branches. Clearly retreating into shadow there on the right side.

A small group of people has met up at the north side of the field to chat and watch the moon. A man with a dog stands still, chin tipped to the sky, to observe the moon while the dog runs. 

I'll go around again. 

The fig trees form a natural corridor, thick evergreen leaves on all sides. The elms are not evergreen. Their leaves are yellow, falling. Their dark branches taper towards the sky. A late autumn breeze makes them shiver, and a few leaves scatter across the light pools on the sidewalk.

Someone has set up a small telescope on the west side of the field. There are four people gathered there, chatting a bit. But otherwise the park is quiet in darkness. The earlier group has turned right, walking down the long diagonal leading away from the soccer field. Another dog and a harried owner pass in the opposite direction, one last walk before the day ends. A couple is holding hands under the elm trees. 

And otherwise just me. And the trees. 

And the moon, missing a slice of disc, rust-coloured shadow spreading. Impotent. 

I go around again. 

There is work waiting at home. An overdue report weighing more than the trees. More than the sky. I've had my Air. I've earned my Steps. Maybe I am even missed?

I go around again. 

The moon isn't the only one up there in the sky. I can see a few stars beyond the trees. A large red one watches the eclipse. A few yellow ones hover further away. But the streetlamps, and the lighted city spreading beyond the street lamp pools, dim the glow of the sky.

My step counter says these loops around the soccer field aren't counting for much. Not for steps.

I go around again. 

Tenth loop. The moon is at least half covered now, but it is hard to tell whether the shape is half a disc or less. Or more. The air is still fresh, sweet against my skin and lungs. But my legs are growing bored. I take them off the sidewalk, into the field. 

I stand, a few yards from the goalie box, and stare up at the moon. 

A lunar eclipse can take a long time. 

I watch it, unchanging, alone, in the cool darkness, for a few minutes more. 

And finally I accept the fact that there is nothing I can do for the moon. Nothing it can do for me. 

At home, I close the blinds. 

Much later, meeting finished, Tim joins me in the bedroom. "The headline says it full moon, not an eclipse."

"Oh, it is definitely an eclipse," I say. "Look." 

We shut off the lights and open the blinds together. There, high in the sky, now well above the line of the elm trees, hangs the moon, a rust-coloured marble, with just a slice of light remaining on its lower left side. 

Lunar eclipse.