Previously, I talked about the moon. The moon is small, the sun is big but they are the same size to us in the sky. When little moon crosses the sun, it blots out all but the wild whipping corona.
There is more about the moon than meets the eye. Who has seen the dark side of the moon, the side even the best astronomers cannot discern? Even the intrepid astronauts did not see it. The human race knows only the one side facing Earth forever never spinning.
I liken the phases of the Moon to varying degrees of happiness. The crescent moon is but a sliver of enterprise or any sweet thought. The crescent fattens into a croissant, golden and daring — the smile of confidence. Still wider grows the golden luminosity until the curve of mirth disappears replaced by a straight-lipped semi-circle. Waxing on, the moon gapes. It becomes a gaping mouth uttering out, saying forth — what?
Until once more, it is a circle again. Glowering surfeit becomes a seat of contentment. The moon is mysterious beyond what any scientist can say.