Seeing the Eclipse in Maine

It started about noon.  On top of Mount Batte, We were all exclaiming.  Someone had a cardboard And a pin, and we all cried out when the sun Appeared in tiny form on the notebook cover. It was hard to believe.  The high school teacher We’d met called it a pinhole camera, People in the Renaissance loved to do that. And when the moon had passed partly through We saw on a rock underneath a fir tree, Dozens of crescents—made the same way— Thousands!  Even our straw hats produced A few as we moved them over the bare granite. We shared chocolate, and one man from Maine Told a joke.  Suns were everywhere—at our feet.