I love the warmth of the sun on my skin, but it is the moon that calls to me, tantalizes me with her whisper. She changes. She ebbs and flows like the tides of which she is the keeper. Her essence is tranquil, restrained yet powerful enough to move the oceans. Waxing and waning she flirts with the naked eye, allowing it to see her in her full or veiled presence.

My endeavors at capturing her magnificence fail and remind me that the most beautiful things are best left free. Preserving her in a photo, no matter the talent of the preserver can never reveal her true glory. I attempt in vain to highlight her secret splendor but find myself most impressed with what I do not capture. The slow rise from behind a tree. The elegant glow that grows then quickly fades. The seductive yet modest demeanor she presents. Depending on her mood—whether waxed or waned, new or full, harvest or blue, super or blood—she brings a commanding presence and loving essence, always leaving me wanting more.

Whether I look at her over the depths of the sea or in my neighborhood, she is ever changing yet ever the same. As a siren singing the lovely song of seafarer’s end, she calls, sings, hums deep into the night with her brightness and light. I’ve many times caught myself pulling over to see her splendor. Yet she never reveals ls her spell.

As a child, I often looked for the man in the moon. Sometimes, I am sure I saw him. It is no wonder he found his way to her. Were it not for her unattainable nature, I too should like to bask in her magnificence. Instead, I glimpse in the day, peek at dusk and gaze at night.

It is not the crown of stars that creates her canvas, but she is the masterpiece of the sky. Ever present day or night, powerful and commanding in her ways, gentle in her light, she veils the earth beneath her with a knowing smile and acknowledges she truly is the queen of the skies.