Big Moon

It's seven o'clock, over Bahia de Banderas. I sit on a chair on the patio, waiting, watching the Super Pink Moon. It's as close to Earth as it gets on its year-long rotation. It is only a dead rock floating in orbit caught by the Earth's gravitational pull. A constant for humans. And it too has no say except to reflect the Sun's light. Its sphere, looking larger this morning, and close, so close, its shine casts a ribbon of light from the distant horizon to the shore. I see the dark patches that form its valleys and plateaus. The ocean is still. There are no fishing boats out now, the surf gently rocks to the quiet edges of the pier. It is Covid-19, yet the Magpies and parrakeets in the big Hueguerro are not aware. They call out as they do every day. Through the unusual silence of the morning, I hear the garbage truck down below. The guys repeat their daily routine. They lightly, and quickly, pick through and around the edges for some off-hand possibility they'll find a valuable object. But in this case, value is only in the eye of the beholder (sorry for the cliche). The moon keeps shining--hope springs eternal. Now, my candle flickers out by a gust of air. The Sun is rising behind the hillside to the east to challenge the moon's place in the sky. I wait to see what happens. The birds chirp, and somewhere in the distance, I hear a faint call of a rooster. He's late. I'm sure that this morning he's a bit confused not knowing which light is which. All the while, the parakeets sing, and I hear the gentle sound of Mexican voices as they walk to work on the road below. They should be at home. Most of us follow the advice to stay put, but for some, the suggestion is not a choice. They have mouths to feed. In concert with the moon, pink bands of clouds have formed above the tops of the mountains. The horizon becomes grey and it’s confusing to delineate the sky from the sea. Someone's radio is playing--it sounds like news. The pink strokes of clouds have morphed into a mist of violet haze and forming a color band that separates the upper sky from the lower, which is now less grey and more an Azul blue. And the moon, just as bright and vivid, holds court above it all. It has not yet met the full challenge of the Sun. The magnificent surface of the sea is silent except around the edges. The waves gently land to push the sand further forth. The swallows have not come out yet. They wait for the right moment, as I do.