cloud texture

Tonight the full moon is the closest to the earth that it is going to be this year.  I went out to enjoy it but got sidetracked by the clouds.  They were fantastic.  I'm no Wordsworth or romantic or natural poet.  I'm no poet of any kind.  The only poetry I write is bad.  Really, pathetically, hysterically funny bad.  I peaked as a poet in fifth grade.  I digress.

The clouds' various textures, translucence covering the moon,  and movement were mesmerizing.  The sight made me realize how petty all my complaints against my day were.  It made me realize that although I'm itching to move, that much of life has a certain, unavoidable, and necessary universality.  The moon and clouds are staples to the Earth. Of course you can quibble with me: clouds are probably different in the Sahara.  And, you'd be correct.

The cloud experience also demonstrated the power of the particular: full moon happens once a month and the closest time deal happens once a year.  At one level, I could have only experienced this beauty tonight for 2012.  Yet, the beauty of the moon has been attested by poets (and non poets) for a large part of history.

There's something about night time that makes me feel small and vulnerable.  Tonight it was a good, humble, everything's-gonna-be-alright small thanks to the beauty of the clouds.  I'm not always sure we gained as much as we think we did  with electricity and the ability to ignore the night and subsequent darkness.  Night helps us appreciate the day; it helps us remind us that it is a gift.  But, then again, so is night.  I love Psalm 130 De Profundis; I wrote a lot of papers on it as a student.

My fascination with clouds has a long history.  I wrote a paper on clouds for second grade, which included cotton ball art.  My mom still teases me about how serious and anal I was about my cloud art.  It took multiple attempts to get the texture and coloring right.  But, my fixation was earned.  Clouds deserve to be taken seriously... and enjoyed.