I've never seen an eclipse, and I was pretty sure that I wouldn't be watching that shadow in the sky tonight.
For one thing, I had no idea where I should look. Up certainly, but from there…where? I left work at about 6:20PM and immediately started staring into the sky, in a sort of planetary panic. Street lamps – with their globes of yellow light – and the spotlights illuminating billboards suddenly became lunar assemblies; confusing me until I had no idea where to look next.
I turned a corner and had walked some steps when I finally saw it, winking at me, from the corner of my eye. A pretty sliver of white light, escaping from the rest of the moon, partially hidden by Diana's charcoal-colored veil. It wasn't late, people were still on the street: couples walking slowly, at a post-work pre-dinner pace…and yet no one looked up.
When I had to make another turn, I did so unwillingly. I had no desire to turn my back on this celestial production, courtesy of the invisible wheels and pulleys of the blue, roaring universe.
I was walking for some time before I became aware of something following me. And to my great joy I saw the moon, its light pared down to a strip of glowing ribbon, flying at my shoulder – following me home.
She would hide behind apartments, houses and trees. She would wait – ever polite – if I waited. And when I started walking once more, I would see her, keeping a respectful distance behind me. I saw stars, cold and glittering pin-pricks in the sky, surrounding the moon as if amazed at her daring. Once, I saw her float behind a ragged cloud, and it looked as if she was melting into a gray froth.
Finally I reached my street, and I had to turn my back on my friend. I did so quickly, without looking back. I hate long good-byes.