Anyone notice the moon recently? A memorable eastern
moon, one of those full spectacular discs that happen on
cloudless nights before the Earth’s shadow begins to cut
over it. This one had been putting out a fierce light, a magnificent
sphere, plump like a peach. Its glow cast a twiggy
spray of bare trees over the yard. Deep in the night the
shadows are dark as coal, with edges sharp and piercing,
cutting over barren gardens, shadows moving slightly as
the moon continued its arc; shadows lap against the tree
trunks, the light trickling in watery pools, like the surface
of a tide against a jagged shoreline.
All of this from a moon. A moon of our youth, of
memories.
Long, long ago a moon like this would make our dog
uneasy. Well into the night he’d let out an odd howl now
and again, and in due time across the street the neighbor’s
dog would take up the moon song. The duet seemed
mournful, making it difficult for our world to settle down
for the night. There was, or is, something disturbing about
such a moon, to child and dog alike.
At times I would wake from a bad dream and find
moonlight pouring into my room, falling across the bed,
creeping up the covers like a burglar’s flashlight. The
moon seemed an intruder, and I was frightened. It is a
wonder what a dog thinks of a moon at once blazing and
indifferent, moving slowly across the night sky, shadows
crawling against buildings, under the trees, into a shrub
row. Here is a distant beauty, spreading deep mysteries
into all the corners of darkness while most of our world
is fast asleep.
‒ JOHN MARSHALL
