Last night's moon rise was dramatic, though not quite as spectacular as this picture from last year. It was low and large and apparently (I had to look it up) in the waning gibbous phase. Somehow it was comforting to see the moon just before falling asleep, perhaps an echo from the endless hours of reading Goodnight Moon to the girls.
The stars at night in the country are also spectacular, an infinitesimal grasp of heaven. But they are unknowable, unimaginable. The moon is familiar. There's a man in it, men have prayed to it and stood on it. Unlike our closest star, the one that drives everything on earth, our CEO if you will, you can look at it without burning your eyes (or career) out. It's like a star for the rest of us, not doing much except move ocean waters around a little, inspire a bit of poetry, aid insomnia, and - just one other little thing - cause people to go lunatic with love.
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