When the moon is full, or a slender crescent, or just the merest wisp, i want to stop and give it a long, thoughtful look. There’s something poignant about it, even mystical.
When it appears caught among spooky clouds, I stop and look then, too. It seems mysterious. I also can’t help thinking sometimes of the Alfred Noyes poem.
I try to imagine how the night sky phenomena looked to our ancient ancestors, before anyone understood them. A dark starry night, an eclipse, a bright planet, a comet: they all seem magical, almost in a shivery way. They’ve inspired so many thrilling stories over the ages.