We have always been fascinated by the moon. As a child, I used to gaze up at the moon in the sky and wonder if it is a mother holding a child in her hands or is it a rabbit. The transition of the moon often known as the phases of the moon are fascinating to watch.
I am reminded of Emily Dickinson’s poem here
by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)
The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.
*/This post is inspired by Daily Post weekly photo challenge – Transition/*