The moon hangs low over the water – lower, it seems, on the smaller islands. Closer too in the mountains. It has so much competition in the city, but still ... when it does shine in the city, what a sight.
I don’t know why I find such solace in the glow of the moon. The sun is so generous with its heat and light, but the moon. The moon is gentle. Constant in its inconstant ways. Strong, without its own source of that strength.
Oh, to hang from the moon, to dance in the moonlight, to glory in the oxymoron of its cool light.