Five seventeen in the morning I am
sixty years and two hours old. The moon
hangs just above the eastern horizon a
thin white crescent in the still dark sky
the faint outline of its whole self just visible.
I am up and out with my two dogs earlyÂ
for the purpose of going aloft in a huge
balloon on this particular day. But the moon
is magical and I wonder if my plan was
really somehow calculated so that IÂ
would take this walk with this
spectacular morning moon.
