The clouds ahead were moving slower than the ones behind and no matter how long I stood outside, Duncan at my feet gnawing on wood chips, no matter how hard I wished it, I just couldn't make the moon come out for me. I spent more time watching the dark gaps between clouds, oceans to their continents, drifting slowly, slowly eastward, never quite wisping away, only thickening the harder I watched. They rose up from unknown places, ignoring the vast expanse of clearness in the southwest, ignoring physics by materializing from nothingness, like smoke or dreams or something for which we have no words. I stood, shifting my weight from foot to foot, thrusting my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. I walked with Duncan around the buildings, turning to look over my shoulder every few seconds and still, no matter how hard I sought, the moon wouldn't play hide-and-seek, only hide. I could see its glow shining from its bottom end through the clouds, like something glimpsed through many mirrors, but the sky wouldn't give me what I wanted, clarity and vision, connectedness with all those people who are out there in the night gazing up at it, watching it turn from bone to blood, children, wrapped in blankets and mittens sitting on laps waiting for the moon to disappear. We are all looking for the moon, and in a sense, looking for each other, sailors on the seas of night, guided toward a single destination.
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