Me & The Grinning Moon

In his classical minimalist style, my buddy Rasta pinged me seconds after 10PM:

Less Go outside.

So I went outside. And the shadow of our sweet Earth was almost completely draped across the cold pale moon. Only a sliver of pure white luna firma remained. I'd caught it in mid-vanish.

I'll have to thank Less, tomorrow. I would have missed it without his timely intervention.

Quickly, I crept back into the house. To the bedroom. Scrounging for the camera and waking Cindy in the process.

In her classic minimalist style, my bride Cindy pinged me, "Huuuh?"

"The eclipse," I said. Fumbling across my nightstand in the dark.

"Whuuuuh?" she creeked, like a tired, un-oiled door hinge.

"The dragon is shallowing the moon."

She sighed. She does that when I try to be clever. It usually indicates I failed in my efforts.

And she drifted back to sleep. The sigh lingering a moment on her lips.

Alone in the warm February night, I photographed the moon. An exceptional sky. Crisp and cloudless. Perfect weather for viewing the only eclipse this side of 2010.

I sat on the sidewalk. Braced the camera on one knee and tried to keep still. Holding my breath to stop my the shake in my hands. There were ghostly limbs from the old wateroak stretched across the sky, trailing thin leafless branches against my view of the moon. I wanted to photograph that view. It felt haunting. Sinister. But I've little skill with the camera. And my photos all failed to capture the experience.

I reclined on the cold cement. Leaned back on my elbows. Just me and the stars. And the grinning moon. That slow smile of white spreading further and further.

A quiet event. Rare and beautiful. Meanwhile, the rest of the house slept.