Sublime

Without the light from the moon, the night was so dark he could barely make out the trees until he was almost bumping into them.

Even now, when darkness had been banished from most parts of the world, there remained a sense of human gratitude toward the moon and its unconditional compassion. It was imprinted upon human genes like a warm collective memory.

Streaming in through the window, the moonlight cast long shadows and splashed the walls with a touch of diluted Indian ink.

A gibbous moon rose above the shoulder of 27,824-foot Makalu, washing the slope beneath my boots in ghostly light, obviating the need for a headlamp.

The night is so thick she can tell she is there only by the scraping of her feet and the tap, tapping of the stick in the loose gravel. A moonless night with only the call of the katydids and marsh frogs. A night to swallow you up, the stars hid by clouds, and memory guiding her tired feet home.

La lune montait de l’est chaque soir, se juchait sur les houppiers et rôdait lentement dans la nuit. Elle ouvrait sur la mer une balafre d’argent.