"Harvest Moon," by George Inness

In the last two days, I’ve had some wonderful experiences with light and color. Yesterday morning, very early (5:30 am), I rode my bike out to Watch Hill, where I joined some friends for a ride along the shore and then breakfast. What I didn’t realize, when I left home, was that a partial lunar eclipse was just finishing up in the southwestern sky. As I pedaled down Beach Street beside the river, suddenly I saw what was left of the moon, a slim white slice sitting just above a bank of crimson clouds over the cemetery and the river. After giving a soft shout to see such a sight, I rode in a spirited way toward the beach, where my friends and I enjoyed the soft morning light as we cruised down to Misquamicut and back. Then, this morning, as I was doing my daily hikes up and down the hill in front of my house, I was happy to see the same moon, white as a costly stone, glowing above the still dark houses. While I was working hard to carry my weighted backpack, the old moon was resting comfortably where it has rested for billions of years, and I took solace in that. Toward the end of my exercise, as I was catching my breath at the top of the hill, I noticed a line of softly colorful light just above the roofs in the west, and just above that was the silent moon.