Tonight's moon was the largest, pinkest moon I have ever seen. And I've seen a few in my time. I had gone to the fabric store to satisfy my fabric longings and on the way home smack, rising over the road, between the snowplow mountains and the black trees: the most enormous pink moon, warped into behemoth size by the atmosphere as it rose just over the earth's curve. I just about had a heart attack and I started praying that I would get to a spot where I could stop the car and see the moonrise over an open field. I had my camera with me and with one hand I took off the lens cap and wound the film, while trying not to tailgate the car ahead of me. If you have ever photographed the moon you know you have to hurry, since even during the film exposure the moon is moving slowly, inexorably on its path, blurring your photo and changing before your eyes. I watched the color shift to a golden orange and the size slowly begin to shrink as it rose higher into the sky. I finally found a field on an empty stretch of road so stopped the car and took a photo. Which helped me to calm down. How do we hold on to these fleeting moments in life? By the time I got home the moon was caught in a thousand tree branches and shining her best in burnished ivory. Now she is small and white and distant.
Every single thing I did today brought me to that exact moment driving home when the pink moon floated into sight. People were out shoveling their parking spaces and I wanted to stop and tell them to look down the street at the sight.
I wonder how many moments like that I have missed because I didn't look up.
Not too many, I hope.