Gazing up at the clouds drifting by the moon last night was mesmirizing. If I could have lain on a bed of smooth grass I might have watched it for hours. Instead, standing on my patio had to do. But still, it was soothing and relaxing. The moon is my must have every evening. I feel its energy radiating deep within my being. Its beauty and light a wonderlust of magic that feeds my inner Moon Goddess.
As a pale phantom with a lamp
Ascends some ruined haunted stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
Mysterious chambers of the air.
Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed,
As if this phantom, full of pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
And at the windows seen again.
Until at last, serene and proud
In all the splendor of her light,
She walks the terraces of cloud.
Supreme as Empress of the Night.
I look, but recognize no more
Objects familiar to my view;
The very pathway to my door
Is an enchanted avenue.
All things are changed. One mass of shade,
The elm-trees drop their curtains down;
By palace, park, and colonmade
I walk as in a foreign town.
The very ground beneath my feet
Is clothed with deviner air;
White marble paves the silent street
And glimmers in the empty square.
Illusion! Underneath there lies
The comman life of everyday;
Only the spirit glorifies
With its own tints the sober grey.
In vain we look, in vain uplift
Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind;
We see but what we have the gift
Of seeing; what we bring we find.
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow