Sliver

Herself speaks.

New Old Dog got up rather early one morning this past weekend. It was close enough to regular get-up-time that I decided just to crawl out of bed and take him and his compatriot Tiny Dog for their regular morning constitutional. When we went, there was a lovely sliver of moon hanging low in the sky. (The feeble photograph I took with my cell phone camera did not do it justice in the least.)  

I so love the moon: flowing through her waxing and her waning, presiding over the passage of time, observing both the seasons of the earth and the seasons of the heart. She has heard our cries of sorrow and joy and of love and hate through the ages. She does not shun us for our failures, but has provided us her disinterested acceptance. We are soothed by her cool and dispassionate face. 

Our lifespans elapse in a blink of her eye. And yet, we can find commonality under her gaze: for she has seen all of humanity, from its inception, to the moment we set foot upon her surface, and beyond. She is miraculous and eternal, and comforts my soul. Moon.