This isn’t a clear picture but I like it anyway because it seems to show the moon leaving a trail as it hurtles by this particular spot in our piece of sky.
This gave me a different feeling about the moon. I’ve written about it with humor (The Man in the Moon eats nothing but cheese . . . ) and I’ve gazed at its acned face through telescopes, but last night I saw the moon as an isolated speck of rock swinging through space, attending to its appointed task as it has all these billions of years. It looked cold and distant and lonely. I thought of Claude Monet painting the same haystack again and again according to the ambient light, season, and his mood, and I thought I finally understood.