Marvel.

Tonight I walked outside to take the trash to the road and was struck by the brightness of the moon.

Bright. Stunningly so.

I grabbed the binoculars and sat ... transfixed.

Throughout time, how many millions of people have done what I'm doing ... gazed at the contrasts of color and craters of the moon?

Copernicus and little kids.

Even wolves!

I enjoyed how gazing at that rock made me feel so small.

And aware, gazing at things floating around in space.

I could make out the moon's ragged outline against the black of the eternal distance.

I trained my glasses on the woods for a minute and watched the forest flicker with fireflies and then, as I looked back at the moon, my eyes ached as they adjusted to the moon's brilliancy.

Yes, indeed ... marvel.

Moon Song
A child saw in the morning skies
The dissipated-looking moon,
And opened wide her big blue eyes,
And cried: "Look, look, my lost balloon!"
And clapped her rosy hands with glee:
"Quick, mother! Bring it back to me."

A poet in a lilied pond
Espied the moon's reflected charms,
And ravished by that beauty blonde,
Leapt out to clasp her in his arms.
And as he'd never learnt to swim,
Poor fool! that was the end of him.

A rustic glimpsed amid the trees
The bluff moon caught as in a snare.
"They say it do be made of cheese,"
Said Giles, "and that a chap bides there. . . .
That Blue Boar ale be strong, I vow --
The lad's a-winkin' at me now."

Two lovers watched the new moon hold
The old moon in her bright embrace.
Said she: "There's mother, pale and old,
And drawing near her resting place."
Said he: "Be mine, and with me wed,"
Moon-high she stared . . . she shook her head.

A soldier saw with dying eyes
The bleared moon like a ball of blood,
And thought of how in other skies,
So pearly bright on leaf and bud
Like peace its soft white beams had lain;
Like Peace! . . . He closed his eyes again.

Child, lover, poet, soldier, clown,
Ah yes, old Moon, what things you've seen!
I marvel now, as you look down,
How can your face be so serene?
And tranquil still you'll make your round,
Old Moon, when we are underground.
- Robert Service