writing prompt: perfect moon

What is perfection, anyway? I thought it didn't exist, not on this plane of existence at any rate. Not among my species, I'm afraid to say. Yet Mother Nature rolls on, in a continuous state of dynamic equilibrium. I don't know enough to state whether this constitutes perfection, but hey, the system works, at least until we come along to muck it up. But I think it is the closest thing to it I will experience in this lifetime.

So, perfect moon. The moon is perfect, always, with its pockmarked surface and smooth orbit. I'll pretend to forget how it has already been polluted by the debris left behind by the various missions, both manned and unmanned. Our footprint there, sadly, is already larger than Armstrong infamous imprint. *sigh*

But the moon shines on, looking down on all of us, but particularly those who live in the night's velvety embrace. Some days, she appears to claim the sky before the sun has even retreated, her face gleaming pale. Other times she mimics her nemesis, by hanging low over the horizon and taking on a golden glow. From a shy sliver to her full basking face, waxing and waning, she returns our glances and rules our oceans from afar, a protective parent gently but unequivocally guiding our steps. She holds fast over our inner workings as well, our emotions surging and retreating like the tides. Maniacs and monsters bay to her, as do I. I humbly acknowledge my inner beast, who finds her constant presence as soothing as the Egyptians seemed to find the rising of the sun. My existence depends upon her cool glow as much as upon the warming kiss of Râ. I bow to the perfect moon.

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