Wanderers
A clear, cool night. I have been reading, but the thoughts of man do not solace me.
I raised the curtain and looked at the moon, clear and silvery; and I brushed some of the unrest out of my mind.
I know all the theories of the moon.
There have been times when the symbols of science have robbed me of some of its mystery and charm.
But no one can explain the moon any more than a grasshopper can explain me.
In youth, the moon promised too much.
But now I understand better; that was not the moon’s fault.
Also the moon and I have this in common:
We both are wanderers across the night.
