Driving south offered the perfect view of the evening sky. I first noticed the red-orange moon rising to my left, hovering just above the Wyoming plains in the distance. It looked unreal, as if someone had set it there for me to reach out and grab. Somehow the moon looked to be angled ever so slightly, as if it were a flat circle that had rotated just a little to make it clear that it had no depth.
Out the window to my right were larger hills, small mountains, behind which the sun began to set, casting its warm glow across the horizon until the separate rays met at the moon.
It was a glorious half hour of a long drive.
The next morning I left at 4:30, and for the first time on a road trip had a full moon shining overhead as I drove west. Freeways in the middle of the country so rarely have any lights, except at exits if you are lucky. The moon was comforting, guiding my way until the sun came out from behind me a few hours later.
It’s moments like these where I have the smallest appreciation for what celestial bodies meant to our ancestors even a hundred years ago, let alone thousands when they were worshipped as entities to be appeased.