I always love looking up on a cool day and seeing the moon. |
The Moon at Day I see the moon at day, low down in the sky and wonder: Why does it show itself against the pale blue of my day? Could it be that the sun grows dimmer and dimmer in this cheerless frozen foggy gloom of early winter? Or is the global gray appearance simply a symptom of the slow coming of the quickening and the end of time? And wonder: How many times have I seen the moon at day— with eyes closed, and back turned towards the business of my busy day, working without conjecture, no sense or awareness, or even pausing to reflect upon the meaning of the blue-gray moon at day? Could it be coming more and more often, emerging from behind the blue-gray veil of space, without my noticing it in my busy way? Or do I just now notice that the blue-gray sky holds this crazy moon at day, not even knowing the moon at day is a regular phenomenon in the routine of the fight of daily living? And could it be that a gift has been given to me as I ponder the meaning of the moon at day, and marvel at the way the white and blue global figure barely contrasts against a pale blue-gray crispy cool background? And then I realize that I too have been fading against the dreary sky of my life, a moon at day myself, with the only exception being that I no longer have a world in which to revolve around, and the weight of this knowledge causes a deep sob to push back up through the gravity of the one called me, until I notice that deep in the gray-brown tree-line that cushions the earth from the fall of the sky, stands a family of deer with a buck, a doe, and the only one moving is a gift to them in the form of a wide-eyed fawn. And I, the fawn of my curiosity, suddenly see in the moon at day a symbol of the wisdom that causes the buck and doe to stand still, for the moon at day is merely a moment in time, yet its splendor helps me see the design, and my sob turns to an acute attention to the tick of time, for as the moon at day fades away, my mood turns okay. |