Moon (Part I)
The other night, the moon, tinted a faded-rose red from forestfire smoke, managed to hoist only half of itself above the valley. The valley floor sparkled with distant lights from homes, but the smoke obscured the mountains. And I wondered of the moon: half empty or half full?
How does a man judge the moon? Am I “judgment impaired,” having lived these last months alone with three cats that only semi-like me? Half full? Or half empty? Upon what basis would a man make such a verdict? Do we allow loss to define everything? Am I, by this calculus, now half the man I was? Isn’t it true that the moon exerts the greatest tidal pull when full, that the pull wanes with the diminishing display? Do we judge by light or do we judge by shadow?
I stood at my bay window.
Moon (Part II)
The other night, as I stood long at my bay window, thinking about how the dull light shows no wounds on me, I saw a lone mule deer doe tip-toe across the home-spangled expanse, her way lighted a deep red and half-full moon.
--Mitchell Hegman
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