moon

how i adore the moon. bright, solid platter of silver, speckled and mottled but never flawed, he hangs over night like some silent and daydreaming god. he watches and takes all into himself, becoming not involved but never seeming either to be uncaring or malevolent, simply dispassionate and removed, almost as though there is a concerted effort there to remain separate lest he be consumed by his own involvement.

the moon has no light of his own. he borrows only from the sun, but takes that same light, filters and distills it into silvery painted waves that wash over a clear night like quiet and careful swells lapping against the docks at a childhood lake. comfortable and comforting both, his light mists down to carry some clarity into the murkiness of deepest dark, so even in the wee small hours there is brightness should one merely remember to look up. that borrowed light, never stolen but given freely from the sun, can never truly be said to be the same once he has held it. it is forever changed, made new and coldly benevolent, sad and caring in a long-dead sort of way that tells the night that he loves them in a way that only he could and that very few will know and even fewer will understand.

the moon is constant. the planets, the earth, the sun, all show their different faces at different times, but the moon has made the choice to move with us as we revolve, always showing us the single face with which we are familiar, pockmarked eyes and nose and mouth staring down our way, ever overlooking and forever waiting for us to look, that we might bathe lightly in his borrowed light and see only that same face we saw as children, as young men and women, as empty-nesters, as crippled elderlies. his face always looks down, smile bemused and wan, kindly and sad-eyed for the lonely night yet hopefully watching like a father who cannot relate to his children but wants nothing more than to be there for them.

the moon soldiers on in his sky, at times resting behind cloud or mist or fog but always up and waiting to borrow light for us. he stands watch over us, the night dwellers, dispassionate and removed. he cannot be one of us, never was meant to be, but his partnership with the sun has made him special and allows him to love in his separateness. like a child with a tank of fish, he can never live amongst his charges, but mother sun brings him the food we need so that he might feed us when she cannot.

their dance is eternal, the moon and the sun, never quite meeting but always loving one another, the sun warming the moon with her light, the moon passing it on for her into the dark while she sleeps. they, on occasion, will share the same sky and there is the joyous moon in her time, dancing with her for those short hours so that we may all see them rejoice with one another, the eternal lovers in our canopy finally and for once allowed to be together, and though they are to be separated again so soon they are there together, happily tracing their arcs together in the blue waters of daylight. the moon has no desire for the day, and so he hides in night, but is made bright enough by the sun even in daylight to be seen. she makes him shine, she makes him show himself to the day, and he loves her for it.

he will always return to night, but is always better for having shown himself to the day, and there is a smile there that never fully fades for he knows full well he will see the sun once more, and for now he has his charges, his night to watch over. he has the light of the sun on him, and he shares it with us. he has no light of his own, but it is of little consequence; the moon is there for his children, and his lighted hands will forever cover us and hold us steady.