The other day, while driving to the gym, I noticed something ahead of me, a ways off in the distance. It was only a peek of something, white, and perhaps round in shape, but mostly surmounted by a jagged line of glorious purple mountains. I was mostly focused on those mountains. It had been one of those typical Orange County days; you know, warm, clear, and perfect — the kind that makes everyone else not living in Southern California weep with covetous despondency. Yeah, we pay for it, though.
It was twilight about now and the sky was preparing for bed, trading its pretty blue dress for slate pajamas. While minding the other vehicles, I continued to flick my gaze toward that white something, but my eyes wouldn’t have it. It was simply too far and too small. Likely a water-tank, I told myself, and left it at that. A few minutes later I approached a bend in the freeway, not even a 20 degree shift, and there it was: not a water-tank.
I couldn’t help myself, I actually cried out “MOON!!” Then my eyes filled with tears.
And here’s why.