By the Light of the Silvery Moon

It is 10:30 and the moon is so bright and silver that it lights up the whole lawn, except where the shadow of the house obscures it. Through the large paned loft window, shafts of white light pour, the moon itself framed within its squares, full and round. Walking through the darkened house, I am guided easily by its light, so saturated is the sky with its incandescence, but when I flick on the living room light in order to see to write, the night sky blackens, and the moon shuts off. When I have only the moon’s lumination, it is enough; my efforts to shine only dim the moon’s brilliance: I can see only what is inside, the objects surrounding me, and I hae lost all ability to see beyond my self, to see above my own roof.

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