The planet Mercury, a crescent at this season, its shimmering edges the atmosphere of our own earth. Even a tiny child is held up to the great eye of the telescope, to the orange wings on the feet of the messenger. His heels lead us toward everything that glitters.
In the night air, another walk around the pleasure of seeing so far away. Is our house the very one we notice among thousands of other lights? Yes and no. When we aren’t there, it takes the shape of this changing time, a crescent: cradle or scimitar. How can we imagine what it does when we don’t fill it with ourselves?
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