Moon

     My nose was cold. My nose was cold and my feet were cold, and so were my hands and so was the back of my neck. The sunset, glowing brighter and more wildly pink by the moment was nevertheless losing any power to charm. I longed simply to be out of the wind that pried its way under a jacket, a sweater and two shirts. For we had come to admire the sunset. To feel the grand turning of the earth, so easy to miss at any other time of day. At the setting hour and at the rising hour, there was no mistake about who was revolving around whom.
     I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Never for a single second of my entire life had I ever been allowed to forget just who revolved around whom. She was the eternal sun, and took the opportunity to remind me of it every evening, saying that it was she who needed to be reminded of the proper perspective: we are specks on one of several planets running around a minor star, revolving around the center of a galaxy, speeding along the trajectory chosen by pure luck and gravity at the instant of an explosion almost fourteen billion years ago. But it was I who was here to be reminded--again--that my trajectory, my orbit, was determined by this star, this center of gravity.
     My only purpose is to reflect her glory.
     So I stood there, cold, silent, arms folded tight. I can't say that she looked any more comfortable, but good gods, she shone.