THE MOON

I would, if I could, bring back
into fashion the moon and the
stars, the dawn and the sunset.
I rarely hear anyone speak
of them. One would think these
perpetual wonders had
passed from sight.
There is peace and rest in the
contemplation of these miracles
that nature paints on the
canvas of the sky.

But we do not want peace
and rest; we are enamored of
noise and motion. A St. Vitus
dance has seized us.
Things must change. The nerves
have a limit of endurance.

Tonight, I looked at the moon
for a while. There was a
faint circle around it.
A friend came by and asked what
I was looking at. I pointed
to the moon.
“I don’t see anything.”
“The moon,” I said.
He chuckled and went on. He will
report me as growing queer.

The mystery of the night!
And our own mystery! Who
knows what we are? No science
has yet grasped us.
The moon – the beautiful, mystical
moon – playing nightly
to empty seats!

Max Ehrmann (1872-1945)

[Supermoon 2016 photo by Alan Larson]