A Half Moon
1/1.
Sometimes when you’re driving somewhere, and it’s a very long drive, you begin to think about anything and everything. At least I do. You look around, and depending on the time of day, you begin to ponder whatever you say. That initial thought, that first drop of water coming from a ceiling leak, becomes an overflowing bucket of musings. Sometimes these thoughts fly out of your head when you reach the location that you were driving to, but other times they stick with you for weeks, months even.
One of these thoughts I had, I felt the need to write down. I was driving to Vermont to go skiing, and we’d been driving several hours already. It was already nighttime by now, with all of the stars and that lone moon making a lovely contrast with the navy blue, practically black sky. That night the moon was only a half moon, a semicircle, with the rounded part facing towards the ground, at least how I saw it.
I imagined that the man in (of? on?) the moon was sitting on the flat top surface, outstretching his arms to hold on to his home, his moon. I questioned if he was lonely, all by himself on that bright white half circle. Then I questioned if he maybe liked it that way, being the sole inhabitant of the moon. Maybe he’s like me, someone who enjoys watching on instead of participating. I’m like that sometimes. Looking on at what happens and imagining what could be. Is the man of the moon like that? Does he watch all of those passing cars, those hand-holding couples, those lonely night-walkers, with some type of intensified sense of vision?
These thoughts led me to think about just how many people are on this planet. So many people who are like me, so many people who are not like me, so many people that I’d one day like, love, hate… I thought of how, even though there are other people who listen to my exact music, who wear my exact clothes, who speak how I speak, who sing how I sing, and some who even look identical, I am still an individual. Sure, so and so out there might be listening to the same song that I am, at this exact moment, or watching the same television show, but I’m still myself.
One thought led to the next, more thoughts about the moon walker and the myriad of people out there, before I finally arrived at my location. I realized that science proves the man of the moon just a creation of fiction. I realized that I might not be an individual. I realized that some things are meant for a quick exploration, and no more thinking on the matter. But those realizations didn’t stop this memory from imprinting itself in my mind, or me from writing everything down. And I’m glad that they didn’t.
One of these thoughts I had, I felt the need to write down. I was driving to Vermont to go skiing, and we’d been driving several hours already. It was already nighttime by now, with all of the stars and that lone moon making a lovely contrast with the navy blue, practically black sky. That night the moon was only a half moon, a semicircle, with the rounded part facing towards the ground, at least how I saw it.
I imagined that the man in (of? on?) the moon was sitting on the flat top surface, outstretching his arms to hold on to his home, his moon. I questioned if he was lonely, all by himself on that bright white half circle. Then I questioned if he maybe liked it that way, being the sole inhabitant of the moon. Maybe he’s like me, someone who enjoys watching on instead of participating. I’m like that sometimes. Looking on at what happens and imagining what could be. Is the man of the moon like that? Does he watch all of those passing cars, those hand-holding couples, those lonely night-walkers, with some type of intensified sense of vision?
These thoughts led me to think about just how many people are on this planet. So many people who are like me, so many people who are not like me, so many people that I’d one day like, love, hate… I thought of how, even though there are other people who listen to my exact music, who wear my exact clothes, who speak how I speak, who sing how I sing, and some who even look identical, I am still an individual. Sure, so and so out there might be listening to the same song that I am, at this exact moment, or watching the same television show, but I’m still myself.
One thought led to the next, more thoughts about the moon walker and the myriad of people out there, before I finally arrived at my location. I realized that science proves the man of the moon just a creation of fiction. I realized that I might not be an individual. I realized that some things are meant for a quick exploration, and no more thinking on the matter. But those realizations didn’t stop this memory from imprinting itself in my mind, or me from writing everything down. And I’m glad that they didn’t.