I grew up in the country ... not on a farm, but in the country ... away from city lights.
As a result of that ... and hearing my gandfather talk so many times about the phases of the moon ... its importance in the planting of crops ... knowing about its pull on those distant oceans ... its effect on young lovers ... I was always intrigued by the moon.
The front porch swing provided a great vantage point for watching the giant harvest moon rising slowly over the hills.
I remember being so intrigued by the quarter moon ... the new moon ... the moon showing in the late daytime sky.
When one lives in the city, though, the moon can become a forgotten item ... unless it really asserts itself as we're coming up the driveway on a late-winter evening.
Then there's no denying it. I still remember that evening ... can almost hear a choir, singing a cappella, celebrating the rising of that moon.
THE MOON TONIGHT
What a gorgeous sight,
lodged in the darkness
of the walnut tree,
the nearer maples joining
to hold it, glowing
in the late-winter sky,
broken, and yet whole,
like a stained-glass
window catching evening
light, holding it high
under the ceiling while
voices rise in song.
(originally published in Capper's)