I've not taken notice of the moon more so than in the last weeks. It's funny how something so wondrous can so easily be forgotten. I've watched it over the last several days unfold from a sliver of brightness into a low, orange-glowing mass suspended among midnight clouds.
It's a bit unfathomable to think of all the lifetimes it has witnessed...all of the wars, and ages, and eras, and change it's seen.
For me, the moon is my bridge...the closest way to travel without leaving home. It is both here and there when I cannot be, and looks down over all of the earth when only my immediate surroundings are visible. It is my messenger and my eyes, a liaison, if you will. He is my middle man, my courier of dreams, my homing pigeon. It is a beacon in the sky that reminds me of the small nature of the world, and how temporary the miles are that stretch across it.
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