@@user-px6gd2hq6mi know how but dosnt work for everyone Tap the emoji button and under neath theres buttons, tap the :-) button now there Sorry may not work fo everyone
eclipse is an astronomical event which occurs when an astronomical object or spacecraft is temporarily obscured, by passing into the shadow of another body or by having another body pass between it and the viewer. This alignment of three celestial objects is known as a syzyg
I have a faint memory of watching a total solar eclipse as a child. My sister says she remembers being there with me. But this isn’t possible. The last total eclipse to occur in the contiguous United States was in 1979-two years prior to my sister’s birth and four years prior to mine. Most likely, we witnessed the partial solar eclipse that occurred in 1993. Yet somehow, over time and through retelling, our collective memory shaped a bigger story. This happens all the time. Memories are malleable. Details slip away from us so easily. After a while, or after no time at all, pieces of our life get forgotten. And the things we do remember are usually some hybrid form of truth and fiction, new layers added with each retelling. I remember standing with my sister and looking up at the sun. No one told us not to. I remember feeling that something important was happening but not really understanding the hows or whys or what would come next, only that in that moment, anything seemed possible. * The summer after I graduated high school, I worked at a summer camp in Oakhurst, California. I wasn’t doing something cool like counseling or lifeguarding. I was kitchen staff. I washed dishes and tended to the salad bar. It was my first time living apart from my parents, my first time on my own-as much as one can be on her own when sharing a double wide with eight other young women-and I was miserable. I’m shy. I always have been. It’s difficult for me to just go up to people and start a conversation. But that summer especially, homesick and lonely and completely out of my comfort zone, I struggled to make friends. I have a faint memory of watching a total solar eclipse as a child. My sister says she remembers being there with me. But this isn’t possible. The last total eclipse to occur in the contiguous United States was in 1979-two years prior to my sister’s birth and four years prior to mine. Most likely, we witnessed the partial solar eclipse that occurred in 1993. Yet somehow, over time and through retelling, our collective memory shaped a bigger story. This happens all the time. Memories are malleable. Details slip away from us so easily. After a while, or after no time at all, pieces of our life get forgotten. And the things we do remember are usually some hybrid form of truth and fiction, new layers added with each retelling. I remember standing with my sister and looking up at the sun. No one told us not to. I remember feeling that something important was happening but not really understanding the hows or whys or what would come next, only that in that moment, anything seemed possible. * The summer after I graduated high school, I worked at a summer camp in Oakhurst, California. I wasn’t doing something cool like counseling or lifeguarding. I was kitchen staff. I washed dishes and tended to the salad bar. It was my first time living apart from my parents, my first time on my own-as much as one can be on her own when sharing a double wide with eight other young women-and I was miserable. I’m shy. I always have been. It’s difficult for me to just go up to people and start a conversation. But that summer especially, homesick and lonely and completely out of my comfort zone, I struggled to make friends. I have a faint memory of watching a total solar eclipse as a child. My sister says she remembers being there with me. But this isn’t possible. The last total eclipse to occur in the contiguous United States was in 1979-two years prior to my sister’s birth and four years prior to mine. Most likely, we witnessed the partial solar eclipse that occurred in 1993. Yet somehow, over time and through retelling, our collective memory shaped a bigger story. This happens all the time. Memories are malleable. Details slip away from us so easily. After a while, or after no time at all, pieces of our life get forgotten. And the things we do remember are usually some hybrid form of truth and fiction, new layers added with each retelling. I remember standing with my sister and looking up at the sun. No one told us not to. I remember feeling that something important was happening but not really understanding the hows or whys or what would come next, only that in that moment, anything seemed possible. * The summer after I graduated high school, I worked at a summer camp in Oakhurst, California. I wasn’t doing something cool like counseling or lifeguarding. I was kitchen staff. I washed dishes and tended to the salad bar. It was my first time living apart from my parents, my first time on my own-as much as one can be on her own when sharing a double wide with eight other young women-and I was miserable. I’m shy. I always have been. It’s difficult for me to just go up to people and start a conversation. But that summer especially, homesick and lonely and completely out of my comfort zone, I struggled to make friends. I have a faint memory of watching a total solar eclipse as a child. My sister says she remembers being there with me. But this isn’t possible. The last total eclipse to occur in the contiguous United States was in 1979-two years prior to my sister’s birth and four years prior to mine. Most likely, we witnessed the partial solar eclipse that occurred in 1993. Yet somehow, over time and through retelling, our collective memory shaped a bigger story. This happens all the time. Memories are malleable. Details slip away from us so easily. After a while, or after no time at all, pieces of our life get forgotten. And the things we do remember are usually some hybrid form of truth and fiction, new layers added with each retelling. I remember standing with my sister and looking up at the sun. No one told us not to. I remember feeling that something important was happening but not really understanding the hows or whys or what would come next, only that in that moment, anything seemed possible. * The summer after I graduated high school, I worked at a summer camp in Oakhurst, California. I wasn’t doing something cool like counseling or lifeguarding. I was kitchen staff. I washed dishes and tended to the salad bar. It was my first time living apart from my parents, my first time on my own-as much as one can be on her own when sharing a double wide with eight other young women-and I was miserable. I’m shy. I always have been. It’s difficult for me to just go up to people and start a conversation. But that summer especially, homesick and lonely and completely out of my comfort zone, I struggled to make friends. I have a faint memory of watching a total solar eclipse as a child. My sister says she remembers being there with me. But this isn’t possible. The last total eclipse to occur in the contiguous United States was in 1979-two years prior to my sister’s birth and four years prior to mine. Most likely, we witnessed the partial solar eclipse that occurred in 1993. Yet somehow, over time and through retelling, our collective memory shaped a bigger story. This happens all the time. Memories are malleable. Details slip away from us so easily. After a while, or after no time at all, pieces of our life get forgotten. And the things we do remember are usually some hybrid form of truth and fiction, new layers added with each retelling. I remember standing with my sister and looking up at the sun. No one told us not to. I remember feeling that something important was happening but not really understanding the hows or whys or what would come next, only that in that moment, anything seemed possible. * The summer after I graduated high school, I worked at a summer camp in Oakhurst, California. I wasn’t doing something cool like counseling or lifeguarding. I was kitchen staff. I washed dishes and tended to the salad bar. It was my first time living apart from my parents, my first time on my own-as much as one can be on her own when sharing a double wide with eight other young women-and I was miserable. I’m shy. I always have been. It’s difficult for me to just go up to people and start a conversation. But that summer especially, homesick and lonely and completely out of my comfort zone, I struggled to make friends.
Bro, if looking at a solar eclipse damages ur eyes. And earth looked at the solar eclipse . Wouldnt that mean every morning will be night and every night will be night ?😂
