þriðjudagur, október 18, 2005

ofan skýjum hló

Never gets old, moonrise.

The hills are east of here, so all moonrises and sunrises are late. This suits me fine.

It's just risen, full and very white, making the sodium lights on the dark hillside that much yellower. By the time I post this, it will be a hand's breadth above the trees and rooflines, up in the thin, gray clouds.

It never gets old, seeing the earth roll towards its single satellite, the same way it never fails to surprise when, just before sleep, the bed tilts away under you, and you come up gasping and clutching the covers, heart racing.

2 ummæli:

Figlet sagði...

i'm absolutely in love with your description of the moon. I linked to it...hope you don't mind.

ghostedwriting.blogspot.com (a blog for documenting other people's words, that are far more eloquent than mine, that had me transfixed or otherwise interested)

Nafnlaus sagði...

I'm reminded of when for the first time, as a kid, it occurred to me that looking at the Moon through binoculars might be interesting. Low in the eastern sky, above nearby rooftops...

And of wondering if the Moon somehow might crash into the Earth with disastrous consequences.


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