The Waning Moon

As I drove home from Fayetteville last night I was struck by the incredible beauty of the waning moon. It rested upon its back like the shaved edge of a disk, or like a bit of mustard yellow construction paper, set against the inky blackness of night. Its back gently kissed the horizon as we drove along in the dimness of the evening. Its hidden face added to its mystery, its allure. As it peeked its strip of self at me through the ever-moving trees, I felt a sense of privileged awe, as if it waned just for me...