The moon appears lonely flung naked out into this night. Before sleep is finished it'll be gone. But you wait, come evening, way off in the distance well above the tree line, just as Debussy fills the air with song, a million eyes will focus on it again for at least the thousandth time – the glint of its prominent pose hung bright in the sky. Always showing the same face, how blithely it surfaces as darkness surrounds it, this eye we spy in the sky. Its funny how one never seems to tire of its hide-and-go-seek nature. Our moon – a remarkable object that is characteristically chic.
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