With the change in weather this is the first evening in a while where I cannot enjoy that bright shimmering crescent hanging in the clear night sky. I've enjoyed taking in the radiant brilliance of the moon and the shining stars filling the night (or at least filling as much as they are able here in the city). There's something about the moon that seems magical and mysterious. There's something about it that seems other, almost transcendent. When I see it as bright and majestic as it has been in the past few nights it inspires in me a feeling of awe. It really does seem magical.
Wolves howl at the moon and the ancient pagans worshiped it. Both knew how to properly respond to the nocturnal magic of that silver-white orb. Okay, maybe the pagans went wrong in misdirecting their worship towards the orb itself rather than the One who holds it there and makes it to shine, but nonetheless, they knew enough to respond in worship and praise. Even the wolves know enough to sing in response.
The last couple nights, I must admit that as my gaze was drawn upwards to the moon, my soul was likewise drawn up; and like the wolf it howled, like the pagan it worshiped.
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