A full moon can make you drive off the road, especially those full, harvest moons, that glow with rich yellow light, warming up the night sky. So why is it that what I adore most is when the moon is at its tiniest, a small, faint sliver?
That crescent moon, though, I find spellbinding. A full moon will run you off the road with its arresting beauty. It's bold and unbridled, and yet it's also somewhat obvious. Who doesn't look at a full moon and wish upon it? But the full moon is the full moon- it will never get more full and it will not sustain. The crescent moon, on the other hand, is the tall, dark, and handsome type.
It provides just enough light, however slight, to let you know it's there. It is there and, if you look closely enough, you can see the outline of its whole, the shadows in which the rest of the moon resides. The crescent moon is modest, gives you just a glimmer of what it can be. And that, to me, is so much more mesmerizing, so much more magnetic than blinding light, than symmetric shining beauty.
I suppose you can count on both. You can count on the full moon to decline, to nightly erode away. And you can also count on the crescent moon to grow, to emerge from the shadows and reach its potential. And I suppose, in the end, there is some comfort to be derived from that convergence, that they are one and the same.