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The Clothing of Diana

Gloriously full, round, gleaming and nude, our sister the Moon, fires that most passionate side of our souls.  When her whole self stands revealed, reflecting down upon us the rays of the hidden Sun, we go a little crazy and perhaps unleash our more accurate eccentricities.

Today at about 5:20 am, about the time my COO was having her second cup of coffee, and one of my most ardent authors, his first, I pulled two chairs out back and my wife and I beheld the full Harvest Moon.  Armed with camera and binoculars, we watched for the next hour as an eclipse of our Moon slowly evolved. A scud of whispy clouds added to the haunting.  Like a subtle tide, the earth’s umbra gently laved Diana in shadow.  Denser than a scrim, but lighter than a blanket, our planet edged its shadow increasingly across her brilliant form, and like, like the best gowns, served to make the remaining uncovered parts more brilliant.

Slowly the celestial hand move the orbs and the encroaching umbra squeezed the lunar brilliance into ever more slender arcs.  Unlike the normal phases of the moon, the shape of this diminishing arc was uniquely its own.  My wife and I held hands, lost in an hour of wonder.

As I tap out these words, the sun is also rising, imbuing the horizoned clouds with that Cabernet, roseate hue that marks our dawn.  Another day launches beneath His light.  Soon my neighbor Dave will follow the lead of his puppy Quincy and cross before my bay window.  The school bus will then come to pick his daughters and take them to their duties.  The human hive will again prevail our vision and thoughts.  Yet today will not be like all others.  For this day I have spent one too-brief hour with my best beloved, as the old hymn says, lost in wonder, love and praise.

Take your time,

            Bart Jackson