The Moon’s Insomnia

The moonrise came late today, allowing the sun to shine for minutes longer than the day before. Warming air is often accompanied by extended evening light. The horizon remained pink and orange as if waiting for the moon to take her spot in the sky, and once the crescent started rising, the sun took its light and left a pale dusk behind. 

I watched as the sky deepened to an inky black. I observed as the earth got quiet. And I felt it happening again. I looked up at the stars because they’re always gazing, and tonight I spoke to the moon because she’s always listening. 

“Do you ever get lonely?” I asked. “The people you watch over are always sleeping.”

“The creatives don’t sleep. I watch art be made. I follow the stories people don’t show during the day. The versions of themselves they present to the sun are who they wish to be. The version I see is who they know they are.”

I took in what the moon said and let it swirl around in my head. I thought about all the things that keep me up at night. So I opened my notebook and started to write. 

“Listen to your insomnia.”