Slice

[rejectomorph]

Traversing a couple of degrees of darkening sky, the crescent moon is transformed from a pale slice of onion skin to a gleaming bit of silver. I haven't noticed the moon much recently. We used to have a better relationship. I used to have a better relationship with the physical universe in general. It's probably my fault that things have gone badly of late. I ought not to have gotten the displaced vertebrae or those splitting headaches or the stiff joints. I'm forever making stupid decisions of that sort and consequently becoming so distracted by my personal concerns that I forget all about my relationship with the rest of the cosmos. I wouldn't blame the moon if it went away for good when I neglect it as I have for the last couple of months. But this evening I walked a bit in the back yard then sat enjoying the cool, dry autumn air, listening to the jays and woodpeckers chatter their last spiels of the day, and there was the moon floating by as though I'd never ignored it. No recriminations, no guilt tripping, nothing. It's too good to me. I don't deserve the moon.