someone like the moon

Walking the dog at dusk I’m suddenly surprised by the moon. Looking along the tree line, toward the slightly raised level of the road: streetlight, streetlight, streetlight, moon, streetlight, streetlight... Just sitting there, complete with a pole beneath; orange from the remnants of sunset, diffuse from my lack of glasses, like a motorcycle headlight through fog. But timeless, weightless, beautiful.

Turning 180 degrees to head home I’m greeted by the dusky sky. A thunderhead floats, silhouetted against the entire range of blue the sky can manage. That range taking up such an expanse of sky, the slow drift from bright, clear, daytime blue to night-time black filling my vision, and a hint, just the slightest hint, of direct sunlight along the horizon. Like a bedroom with the door slightly ajar, the landing light creeping in that angular gap and casting the longest shadow, so sharp near the door but drifting so gradually, almost imperceptibly, to darkness, not even sparing your cheeks from a blush of orange. Not sparing the room from that incredible richness of tone, more oranges – more blues – than a jumbo box of crayons and so smooth, so smooth that you cannot see the gaps, the changes. Try as you might, even if you know it’s there, even if you understand the quantum wonder within this pattern, it eludes. But still fascinates, still enthrals, still is enjoyed.