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sunsets are my favorite.

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The sun was actively on fire and nobody looked away. On April 8, 2024, Dallas got the kind of sky event that makes you forget you were supposed to be somewhere else. A total solar eclipse swept across a narrow corridor of North America — cutting from Mexico's Pacific coast all the way up to Newfoundland — and Dallas, Texas sat right in the path of it. But here's the thing about totality that no photograph fully prepares you for: the solar prominences. NASA photographer Keegan Barber captured them from the Dallas Arboretum that Monday — those roiling loops of plasma erupting from the sun's edge, only visible to the naked eye when the moon slides perfectly into place and blocks the blinding disk behind it. They look like something a special effects team would get fired for making too dramatic. Pink and arcing, impossibly delicate against the corona's white haze. The sun, which you've been told your entire life never to look at, suddenly revealing exactly why. For a few minutes, Dallas wasn't a traffic situation or a skyline or a punchline in the Houston vs. Dallas debate. It was just a field of people standing in sudden midday darkness, staring up at something that made the ordinary rules of daylight temporarily irrelevant. The partial eclipse, for what it's worth, was visible across the entire North American continent, plus parts of Central America and Europe. Everyone got *something*. But totality — that specific, narrow stripe of complete shadow racing across the continent — that was reserved for the people who happened to be in the right place. Texas has always had a complicated relationship with the sky. Too much of it, ranchers will tell you. Too hot, too unpredictable, too prone to doing dramatic things without warning. But on April 8th, the sky did something dramatic on a published schedule, and people drove hours to stand in a garden in Dallas and watch the moon briefly win. Solar prominences don't care about any of that, of course. They've been erupting off the sun's surface for billions of years, long before there was anyone standing in a Texas arboretum to notice them. The eclipse just moved the moon into position long enough for us to catch them in the act. Which raises a question worth sitting with: how many extraordinary things are happening right now that we simply lack the right angle to see?