The August sun was bright all day long, but beneath the umbrella everything was changed. Light filtered through the fabric, turning the world amber. The ribs of the yellow beach umbrella stretched above Moira like the spokes of some enormous golden wheel. Meantime, the sea was breathing softly beyond the shore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her father lay beside her in a deckchair, watching the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Today\u2019s the day,\u2019 he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Moira looked up. There was something strange about the light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For weeks, everyone had spoken of the eclipse. Newspapers had printed maps. Astronomers had marked the path. Children had made cardboard viewers. Her father had warned her, repeatedly, never to look directly at the Sun without proper protection. Yet none of them had prepared her for this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At first, the change was almost too gentle to notice. The blue sky seemed to pale. The brightness beneath the umbrella softened. The beach grew quieter. Even the gulls seemed to have forgotten what they were saying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Moira pushed her eclipse glasses onto her forehead and looked up at the underside of the umbrella. The Moon had begun its slow journey across the bright disc. Bit by bit, the light diminished. Through the yellow umbrella, the Sun became a faint white glow, barely visible through the fabric. It looked less like a blazing star and more like a secret someone had left behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Can you see it?\u2019 her father asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Just.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They lay back and watched. The sea turned silver. Shadows grew sharper, then strange. The golden cloth above them seemed to glow from within. For a few extraordinary minutes, the beach belonged to another world. Then the Sun was almost gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Moira held her breath. Through the umbrella, there was only the faintest glimmer. It made her think of a light behind a closed door, still there but hidden. The Sun looked fragile then, almost shy, as though it had wandered away and was deciding whether to come home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Moira thought of all the things that had changed since the last eclipse she could remember. People had left. People had arrived. The house was older. Her father had grown quieter. And yet here they were: under the same yellow umbrella, waiting for the light to return.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Slowly, a bright sliver broke through the shadows, casting a warm golden glow across the sand once more. The prodigal sun had returned, bringing back the daylight and filling the beach with familiar warmth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n