Strangely, a cool sense of tranquility washes over me as I come out of my reverie, my black reminiscence ...
The vision of my youthful ideals embodied in vaporous shadow on the pavement below has evaporated. Gone for the moment but sure to return as an untold want ... a want, a wish for explanation why it all went so wrong. Yet, wrong by whose interpretation? I learn to shut it out, shut out the noise in the head called irrational thought, excessive thinking that leads only to depression, if not, eventually, to insanity.
I pull away from the window, shut it tight against the chilly predawn air, and forget my dark reflection. It's only a phantom, scarcely the real me. I throw on some duds lying in a tumble at the foot of my bed and don my black cap, drawing it down tight at my ears. I lunge out my studio door, not bothering to lock up. Why take the silly but usual precautions at this juncture in my over-dull life? A walk in the moonlight will do me good. I will see my inner turmoil in a new light, the softly suffused illumination della bella luna. The black shadow of the walking dead, cast upon the asphalt by the gracious moon, will be my companion.
Chilled to the bone, I couldn't care less.
I tread slowly, reverentially, my way over to the frosty view above that patiently awaits me. Full, round and gleaming is beauty supernal: my exquisite, my lovely Moon. I wish to touch her but am overwhelmed by giant sentinels whose barren arms stretch with desperate longing toward her. For all their height, those statuesque trees are no more able to caress her silvery face than I. The eternal, unrequited pining for what is enthroned on high.
I am seeking something or someone - mightier, wiser - to tell me who I am and where I am going, but it is a thankless and lonely quest. The lunar queen has no spoken answer, perhaps, yet her presence comforts me as none other can.