The moon makes no sound, she is silent as can be... Not a word, not a noise, even when she is in her fullest phase. Maybe the moon is mute, and her wistful face is sad, because she cannot speak to us. I wish she could talk; I bet she would have the most beautiful stories to tell.
Does she smell as pleasant as she looks? It is an odd question, but how does she smell? Is it a dusty, dry smell, full of stale space-air? Or, could it be a sweet, gentle perfume, like the kind a lady wears for a special occasion? Does she even have a smell at all?
How does she moon feel? I imagine that she is wearing a gold cloak of velvet. If you were to run your hand over her garment, clouds of moon dust would splash into the air, radiant specks of light. And underneath her cloak, is flesh of silver, smooth as glass, and twice as pretty...
I wonder if there could be a taste associated with the lady of the sky. Is there a sweet taste, like honey, to fill your mouth, when you gaze up at her from your window? Can you taste her from there? Suppose she has a bitter taste, full of envy and frustration. From time's first moments, she has been stuck in the same route every day. Does she have a bitter heart, watching the comets dance their merry, backwards route?
The moon is pale and sickly, on some nights, hollow and worn in early morning, and full and blooming on other nights. She, like us, has emotions, feelings, and something like a body, and she too can not hide it any better than we can. Her joy is clearly visible when she dances at celestial parties, her sorrow is evident when she must go home, worn and muddled from her frolicking. And when there are no balls, no gatherings, she must be lonely, for she has a wistful, sad air.
Does the shiny lady have a name? Of course, she is called the Moon, by us, but is that her name? Is it a simple, short name, like what we know her by, or is it an extravagant name that takes hours to learn to pronounce. Does she even remember her name? Alone in the sky, with no one to call her by name, has she forgotten, or does she keep it secret?
What do you think of the moon and her doings? What do you think she smells like? Can you imagine the world from her eyes. I can -- when I gaze from my window -- see her, and almost know she can see me. She reflects the light of the sun, and I wish with all my heart I could be like her. I wish to reflect the light of the Son, the one who made the moon, himself. And then, maybe I could be as beautiful as she.
"Beauty is a form of genius -- is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark water of that silver shell we call the moon."
~ Oscar Wilde