The Edge of the Moon

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The Edge of the Moon

Hello, Moon.

There you hang, a thin white sliver that cradles a large dark ball.
Can I stand in the light and gaze below?
I see your shadow, a part of your dark side.
It seems so cold and far away.
Though a million stars lie behind you, not a one sits between us.
What does that mean?
Why do you front the stars?
Why do you pull the tides?
You that drinks no water sloshes ours around at will.
You that grows only rocks.
So hot, so cold, moving around and around.
Why?
Do you have purpose or live like the animal, only by instinct, a cradle that rocks back and forth yet never moves forward?
Or does it?
Does the cradle liberate the baby's spirit?
Does the imagination soar to you, oh moon, green cheese, cows leaping and a man in there somewhere?
Where?
In a crater of his own making?
Why a man anyway?

And if you looked down, what would you find?
All of us with our own shadows trailing behind us, just like you.
All of us with our dark sides in perpetual tow, just like you.
All of us blocking the stars, just like you, our own and those of others.
Each of us capable of creating our own storms, of turning to stone, of switching from fire to ice with the speed of a meteor.
Sometimes we merely survive.
Sometimes we scurry about for no reason.
Once in a great while we stop and dream and fly.
More often we retreat to our caves and hide.

We are not so different, oh Moon.
If you could speak, what would you say?
Would you sing or would you yell?
Would you laugh or would you cry, a big guffaw or a wretched sob or a twisted chuckle or a quiet weep?
You don't strike me as the whimper type, oh Moon, though many that appear so strong crack easily when the tempests strike.
Outward appearances deceive.
Would you dispense advice or simply watch the puppet show, the constant tugging of strings that cause us all to dance to someone else's song?
Would you discover amusement or feel sorrow, understand or shake your craggy head in bewilderment, parent, teacher or casual observer, participant or spectator, in the parade or on the bleachers-what would you choose?

We face the same choice as you.
To play or not to play or play full out or wonder if we could have.
To warm the bench or get in the game or cheer for another or fall asleep in the stands.
To crack up or break down or do nothing at all and take no risks.
To feel.
To ignore.
To embrace.
To reject.
To include or exclude.
To cherish or despise.

We are not so different, oh Moon.
Not at all.

That's A View From The Ridge...

About The Author

Author Ridgely Goldsborough invites you to subscribe to The Daily Column, a heart-felt collection of stories that inspire hope and courage. Please do so at www.aviewfromtheridge.com.

ridge@aviewfromtheridge.com

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The Edge of the Moon

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