Last night, we looked out upon the same moon, you and I. That always amazes me, to know that no matter how distant our family and friends may be, we can glance up and see the same thing at the same time. It is so different than the sun, that intimacy we have with the moon. Why is that? I suppose because we can’t stare at the sun, and somehow, something affects us in gazing at the moon for as long as we tend to do. We lose ourselves in time and space and thought. We become mesmerized, entranced, enthralled. The moon seems at times so near, so personal. Alone in the vast darkness of the sky, she seems somehow within our reach, in a way, yet still shrouded in mystery and an impervious beauty.
This morning I watched her set, a long and languid process, as she inched her way half hidden along the mountain to the southwest, falling along with the line of the mountain ridge, until she reached the base and was consumed into the horizon. At the same time, the glow from the moon was replaced by the subtle light emerging from the east in the promise of the sun to follow.