Last Saturday, as I was taking down the day’s washing, I saw a perfectly round sun on the horizon. Round and bright orange. Tried to capture it with my phone but it didn’t turn out too good.
Then today, Verlyn Klinkenborg wrote a really lovely description of the moon.
The full moon was rising on the ride home. At first there was just the suggestion of a disk low on the horizon. It might have been a moon painted on old red brick, faded and soot-stained over the eons, the remnant of an ad for some forgotten nocturnal medicine. I’d been watching the way Baltimore backs blindly onto the tracks — the toothless old houses, boarded up, beyond despair, here and there a wall gone entirely so that the houses seem to be leaking their privacy into the night. And then, when I next looked, we were passing the water’s edge, and there was the moon just beginning to glow, though the night was too muggy for the water to catch the moon’s reflection.
It seemed like a very slow moon, perhaps because of the speed with which the landscape shifted beneath it. I found myself thinking of the ancient notion that the moon’s orbit marks the boundary between the immutable heavens and the mutability of the sublunary sphere. Against the backdrop of urban demise and development, this moon seemed impossibly constant. Even along the shore, where the flat waves seemed to abandon the land over and over again, the moon persisted.
– – –
Today felt like a rainy day in autumn, minus the cold wind. It was nice walking in the rain (under an umbrella this time), a change from the scorching weather we’ve had this past few weeks.