I came upon this quote tonight as I noticed the near-fullness of the moon which, for the past two years, has been one of the many constant connections between me and my very close, now estranged, friend.
Months back, I referenced a quote from him in this blog, when I expressed to him the fact that I prefer the moon to the sun. "You can't see the moon without the sun," he observed. We talked about that pithy quote not too long ago. Not too long before we stopped talking about the moon, and everything else.
He and I have moon history. An early e-mail. The first phone conversation. The first date. His first eclipse. Random calls to me to go look at the moon, when it made a particularly spectacular appearance.
One winter night, as we enjoyed a perfectly round, starkly white moon from our respective locations, I sang a song to him over the phone, based on a poem my mother had written, for which my father composed the music:
Wait with me, love
She'll be here soon
Let's watch the rise of
the golden moon
Taking her time
Brilliant and showy
Just watch her climb
Revealing her halo, pale and snowy
Will the moon appear?
She always has
There, she has ascended
Ever so still suspended
By that lofty hill
Now I hear the skylark's song
Oh, wait with me, love
She won't be long
So now I can't look at the moon, whether it's full and glows deep orange, looming too large on the horizon, or is a pristine ivory slice high in the sky, punctuated by stars and Venus or Mars, without thinking of him. And I can't help but wonder if that's true for him, too. Because, like me, he remembers everything.
Not just friends.
Moon friends.
I miss my moon friend.
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