Sun, Moon, Sky

Peach gold, the Sun, hanging bright and bold on the horizon of evening, night following at a distance, trailing her scarf of many colors behind her. He shone hard, fierce, showing his flaming peacock self, his phoenix-envying rich flame self, his copper, gold, bronze, brass, peach, molten heart self. He had an audience.

Bold Moon, silver disc, saucy and bright, she sat opposite the sun's horizon. She saw him, but pretended not to, her gaze never lighting on him more than a moment. Pale blue gauze skirt floating around her, she was adrift in a sea of sky, languid, adored, knowing he saw her and was showing his finery to catch her eye.

Each in their place, they reached for the other, arms wide, spanning the great dome above. Where they met, their light entwined, orange and aqua, midnight and crimson. I imagined it hissed, sizzled, rang out pure, perfect, bell pure notes of ecstasy.

How often do moon and sun sit so square in the sky? Usually they run, one after the other, giving each other their backs, giving chase. How rare to see them turn, smiling, into each other's embrace before soaring onward in their dance. Rare, and lovely, to see the daylit moon curtsy to the dusk heavy sun, even as he bows to her.