Moonscapes & Melancholy
by Richard M. Ankers
There is no
landscape, our world smothered by night. Only those obsidian undulations which
roll between the permanent darkness and the star-speckled sky define forever.
Until…
The moon rises
like a great white whale dividing the horizon like chalk on a blackboard. At
first faint, but growing larger, brighter, more definite, it eases its way into
eternity. The moon never rushes. Haste is not in its nature. The night sky will
always be there, resting behind its ebon curtain, awaiting the sun’s cool
dispersal.
A silvered
reassurance to those who observe it, the celestial orb caresses the stars out
of its way this evening. Heading for heaven like a beacon to its nocturnal
guests, it hangs for a moment, taking in all that universal vastness beneath.
Yet melancholy prevails, and the view overwhelms. The moon feels such an
overriding sadness at its colourless realm it fades back under the Earth’s
midnight carpet, searching for more, always more. Perhaps on the other side?
Perhaps below?
The moon transcends
us in its quiet determination, its selfless search for light. It hopes where we
would flounder. In its steadfast questing, it glows a simple farewell.
And we wonder…
If only we had
the heart to confess the truth: the night is colourless. There are only
monochrome moments for that fearless breaker of nightmares. Darkness is not
born of light but for its balancing.
And it
ponders…
How to tell us
it knows.
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