I like crescent moons. They're not as blatant as a full moon, nor as non-committal as a half moon. Just a slip of light in a dark sky: subtle, giving birth to all kinds of ideas. In old postcards, children would balance precariously on crescent-shaped, paper moons. Victorian ladies would perch on a crescent moon, cascading lace and smiling alluringly - inviting the viewer to join her on her lunar roost. One of my favorite Christmas ornaments is a scarlet crescent moon, edged with gold and with a tiny star hanging before it – like a carrot tempting a donkey.
Crescent moons are graceful and unmistakable, made with a simple sweep of a cosmic paintbrush on a dark cobalt canvas. They've inspired jewels and flags, in addition to ornaments. The crescent moon and star was adopted by the Ottoman Empire. The Virgin Mary stands upon a crescent moon. They've even been carved onto outhouse doors. I've long been mesmerized by this delicate curve of light. Maybe because it's so unexpected? Planets are round, stars are like sparks of light…but a crescent: who ordered that? I'm always surprised – as well as delighted – to see a crescent moon hanging in the sky.
Last week there was a very fine crescent moon. It's waxing now, however – each night it becomes a little fuller. Still – next time a crescent moon comes along, I advise you to admire it. But, please, if you're taking a walk, wait until you cross the street…as I didn't…or you'll become moon-struck in more ways than one.