…hanging there in her fullness; already rising so far north since her brief flirting with the equinoctial horizon. Then today, past full but still ripe, high overhead; a ghostly image against the brightest blue of mid morning’s cloudless sky.
How many notice her in her daylit garb?
I have a clear memory of the first time she caught me out; I must have been 8 or 9. I wasn’t really aware of stopping in my tracks and staring, slack-jawed at the unexpectedness of it.
The moon was meant to be out at night. What was it doing up there in the middle of the day? It was my father who shook me out of the reverie, “What are you doing?” He looked up, laughed, “Oh!”, and carried on with whatever it was he was doing.
She still catches me unawares, occasionally. Somewhere in between, I seem to have adopted a habit of just nodding in appreciation, thanking her, and hardly ever get caught open-mouthed at the wonder of her.
Others continue, oblivious. Should I stop them, point out what they are missing? Would they care?
Part of the “Solstice of the Moon” series.