Last night the Moon hung big and bold and brash
It’s golden face stared down in confidence
In contrast to the crescent which adorned
The darkened sky last week

Then, like a nervous child it peeked around
The shadow that we cast as if it were
Still clutching to its mother’s legs in fear
Of what might lie beyond

I wonder what has caused that reticence
To be replaced with teenage cockiness
And if there is another phase to come
A geriatric one?

A recent fingernail moon was soon replaced by a brash super moon. Both spectacular in their own ways.
(14.08.22)

© Ben Quant 2022