There are nights when the moon is a frozen oasis, a centering point untouched and untouchable by the constant motion of my surroundings. Yesterday evening I looked up and saw its profound glowing disc being born above the east bay hills, tinged an orangish brown by the intervening layers of spoiled atmosphere but nonetheless beautiful. It bathed the hills in fairytale light, making them seem worlds removed from the street I was driving down.
The moment is perfectly captured in memory, and less than perfectly captured by my point-and-shoot attempt at photography while driving.
Currently listening to: Common Eider, King Eider "How To Build A Cabin"
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