Except for a loosely-knit veil of clouds that
slowly drifts across the face of the full moon, the sky is clear and dazzling
with celestial celebration. A bolder
moon would not so willingly remain in the background, but this is a shy moon
and so it peeks through the passing clouds – cautiously – as a child might dip
a toe in a river, testing the water’s reception before daring to jump in. The stars and planets twinkle with hilarity
at the bashful lad.
From below, its brightness appears shrouded in
mystery, drawing us in like the seduction of a teasing lover. But tonight’s
moon knows nothing of its power to move whole oceans, inspire countless love
songs, or create legends of madness at the sight of its full glory.
How often it is that we don’t see ourselves as
others see us, instead reserving our light so as to not shine too brightly for
that would be boastful and our fear of ridicule too great?
And so, like a shy moon, we offer only glimpses of what we could be.
And so, like a shy moon, we offer only glimpses of what we could be.
