I See The Moon
At first I am dismayed by the thought of driving three hours in the dark. In spite of my rising anxiety to break away from this place already, there is a 'been there done that' dread of what lies ahead. Once I am in the car and backing down the driveway however, all negative feelings suck themselves into the vortex created by the open moonroof, the driving beat of Creed, and the fantastical illuminating light of the full moon.
Within seconds I am outside the tidy neighborhoods and cruising the deserted winding roads towards the mountain. The moonlight is bright enough that there is no need for high beams on these two lane back roads. I think of the man in the bar, with the tatoos and the shaved head and the wide easy grin. I think of his deep kind chuckle and the way he'd made the drunken old pervert dissapear so quickly. I wish, for a moment, that I could share this moon with him - the way it uncovers shadows and reveals what isn't seen in the daytime. I think of him and of the moon, and taste loss, while I drive further and further up the mountain. I crest the top of the pass and the view is something from a dream.
Bare branched trees are silvered in moonlight. The road ahead appears liquid in the eerily bright night. The temperature has dropped and the air rushing in my open windows bites and stings instead of cools and clears. I close the windows but leave the moonroof open. I turn up the heat, and the music. Creed has gone and now Switchfoot blares from the speakers into the vast and wild night. The taste of loss is suddenly bitter as the moonlight illuminates not only the vista before me, but shines light into the hidden valleys in my memories. I see disregard, I see disinterest, I see denial. I see a lack of action from the first moment, and my own innate intuition covered over by weak justifications. Exposed, vulnerable, I shiver in the cold and the white light.
The beauty of the moonlight is sharp, clear, and provides a clarity I hadn't had before. It stings, the sharpness of the sudden light. I clear the pass and begin the descent, the moon no longer leading me but staying at my left as a friend, a companion - I am not alone.
At the bottom of the mountain I begin the winding and blind drive through dense wooded back roads, only half marked with tired worn paint lines and random reflectors. The occasional barn glows with warm light off in the distant, or a house close to the road has one dim light still shining - no competition in this blank night, the moon long ago hidden behind some other mountain. I drive, and drive, and drive. The music has stopped and only the sound of the wind keening through the open moonroof sings to me.
Then I see the moon again. Subtly, the road has lightened. I am less straining forward against the seat belt, less tensely gripping the steering wheel, less clenched against potential leaping deer. I am leaning back, loosely holding on, relaxed. And then I am dialing out of the blue, out of the moon. I am dialing and the one who answers is a friend of the moon.
The man in the bar fades from my memories. The man with tatoos and a shaved head, the man of Pervert Removal and Lady Protector is no longer a bitter taste but a slow smile and a shake of the head. The voice on the other end of the phone says, "Can you see that moon! It's so beautiful" and I smile quicker, bigger, and I say, "Yes! I can see the moon!" And I am glad to have someone to share the moon with - and doubly glad that the one I share it with is one who can see it even without me.
Oh moonlight - brighter than I knew, and showing more than I wanted, but all that I needed.
do you see the moon?
Within seconds I am outside the tidy neighborhoods and cruising the deserted winding roads towards the mountain. The moonlight is bright enough that there is no need for high beams on these two lane back roads. I think of the man in the bar, with the tatoos and the shaved head and the wide easy grin. I think of his deep kind chuckle and the way he'd made the drunken old pervert dissapear so quickly. I wish, for a moment, that I could share this moon with him - the way it uncovers shadows and reveals what isn't seen in the daytime. I think of him and of the moon, and taste loss, while I drive further and further up the mountain. I crest the top of the pass and the view is something from a dream.
Bare branched trees are silvered in moonlight. The road ahead appears liquid in the eerily bright night. The temperature has dropped and the air rushing in my open windows bites and stings instead of cools and clears. I close the windows but leave the moonroof open. I turn up the heat, and the music. Creed has gone and now Switchfoot blares from the speakers into the vast and wild night. The taste of loss is suddenly bitter as the moonlight illuminates not only the vista before me, but shines light into the hidden valleys in my memories. I see disregard, I see disinterest, I see denial. I see a lack of action from the first moment, and my own innate intuition covered over by weak justifications. Exposed, vulnerable, I shiver in the cold and the white light.
The beauty of the moonlight is sharp, clear, and provides a clarity I hadn't had before. It stings, the sharpness of the sudden light. I clear the pass and begin the descent, the moon no longer leading me but staying at my left as a friend, a companion - I am not alone.
At the bottom of the mountain I begin the winding and blind drive through dense wooded back roads, only half marked with tired worn paint lines and random reflectors. The occasional barn glows with warm light off in the distant, or a house close to the road has one dim light still shining - no competition in this blank night, the moon long ago hidden behind some other mountain. I drive, and drive, and drive. The music has stopped and only the sound of the wind keening through the open moonroof sings to me.
Then I see the moon again. Subtly, the road has lightened. I am less straining forward against the seat belt, less tensely gripping the steering wheel, less clenched against potential leaping deer. I am leaning back, loosely holding on, relaxed. And then I am dialing out of the blue, out of the moon. I am dialing and the one who answers is a friend of the moon.
The man in the bar fades from my memories. The man with tatoos and a shaved head, the man of Pervert Removal and Lady Protector is no longer a bitter taste but a slow smile and a shake of the head. The voice on the other end of the phone says, "Can you see that moon! It's so beautiful" and I smile quicker, bigger, and I say, "Yes! I can see the moon!" And I am glad to have someone to share the moon with - and doubly glad that the one I share it with is one who can see it even without me.
Oh moonlight - brighter than I knew, and showing more than I wanted, but all that I needed.
do you see the moon?
But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.
Reply to this