It’s been weeks since I saw the moon.
Usually I track it almost unconsciously – watching as it grows fatter, rises later, visits in the middle of the day.
But at this latitude, at this time of year, the days are just barely long enough that I’m never outside when it’s dark. And I miss it.
All of those cycles
For all of our electric lighting and thermostats and dehumidifiers, I am still affected by the cycles of the world. I still want to hibernate in the winter. I still get energized by the spring. And I still thrill to the waxing and waning of the moon.
But there’s this modern story that none of that stuff matters anymore. We’ve conquered those changes; we’ve made it so that we can pretend that every day is just like every other day.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t WANT every day to be just like every other day. That way lies boredom, and that way lies madness. The variety, on the other hand, is nice. The variety is life-giving. The variety keeps us anchored to this moment, the one right here, not the one that looks exactly like this one sometime further down the road.
I mean, is there any way to see the particular green of new shoots or the rich russet of falling leaves and not stop for just a second, at least once, to goggle over the colors and how it happens again, this year just like last?
And even more, assuming I live to a ripe old age, there are only around four dozen springs left to me. That’s not very many. I can see how someone would find that depressing, but I think something like it every year and it makes me appreciate this particular version of spring.
Calling the moon
Watching the moon wax and wane is one of the ways I stay connected to all of these cycles at a level shorter than a season but longer than a day. The seasons are too far apart to keep me noticing change, but the days are too easily caught up in routine and tasks and running hither and yon.
The moon, on the other hand, changes visibly every single day, with the possible exception of the three days around full, when it changes so little to the naked eye that it appears to stay the same. Even then, though, if you pay attention you can see it.
And yet, it has always been around twenty-eight days since the last time it looked like this.
Right here, right now
But even this – the not-seeing the moon because the sun is hogging all the daytime – is part of the cycle. It’s part of what happens in the flow of time, all these fractally spirals on top of fractally spirals.
So even though I’m looking forward to seeing her soon, I’m okay with being right now, bathed in daylight. It’s just another part of the cycle, one I’ll feel a little wistful for when the daylight has been squashed down into a period of time shorter than I’ll be at the office. And then, when the moon and her cronies have elbowed the daytime into submission, I’ll remember the days when the sunlight bathes everything and I’ll snuggle into my blanket a little deeper and notice the crisp clarity of the winter stars.