Big and round, a luminescent ball of white glowing bright in the clear, black sky. Hanging in the infinite universe above us so high. And how far can it see into the expansive galaxy, of which I have a more limited view? Can the moon talk to Saturn’s moons as they waltz around their planets…well, how do you do this fine evening? Why, I’m very well, thank you, and how are you? Good, thanks, simply enjoying the fine views of my brilliantly lit planet. Sometimes I wonder if they can even see me anymore with all those invasive street lights and tall, office buildings blocking out the sky. I’m not sure they even want my beautiful night anymore. Most of them can’t even see the stars. Such a shame.
It is a shame, says Saturn’s moon. Who wouldn’t want a view of these infinite spaces, dotted with diamonds that glitter and twinkle like so? Seems like such a waste, if they can’t appreciate the beauty all around us out here. Well, perhaps they will appreciate your glow again – when their iridescent lights blow out and they have nothing but you and the stars to light their way.
But there is me, on earth, standing outside and exclaiming how full the moon looks tonight, even against the glare of city lights and sweeping car beams. How grand it is, perched in the sky, watching quietly over the world as it darkens and tires after a long day with the sun. The moon is my symbol of rest and serenity. It is my moment when I stop and appreciate the eternal universe that is blocked by the radiant sun until it departs my city for the day. The moon is my respite. How many times do I exclaim how full it looks on a given night, or how the sliver of a crescent moon hangs so delicately in the night sky? I can not say the same for the sun, who shines the same every day, never leaving me to wonder what side of itself it will reveal at high noon.
I see you, moon. I notice your grand beauty. I envy your ability to see farther than my limited view. You have the big picture, when all I can see appears so small.
– Written by Miss A on November 26, 2011. Serendipitously, this entry was written six hours before Miss A viewed Rene Magritte’s Le Seize Septembre and Le Page Blanche for the first time at a museum in Brussels, Belgium.