Tonight’s a full moon. If you head out to Coney Island today dressed as a werewolf or vampire … or can convince the ticket seller that you “are a moon worshipper” … you’ll get $2 off the price of the Cyclone!
Last night, as I rode the train home from Rhode Island. As we came through the Bronx, the moon started to rise. It was huge and a lovely pale, creamy orange, hanging right above the skyline. I happen to love the moon. Love it. I watched it for a long time, doing my traditional moon greeting — internal happy-dance, silently shouting, “Hello, Moon!” — and then went back to my book.
A few minutes later, the woman in the seat ahead of me interrupted me:
I looked up to find her facing me, her chin resting on the seatback, smiling.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I just had to share.” She inclined her head toward the window. “Did you see? Look at that moon. By the time we get into the City, we won’t be able to see it, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”
How excellent is that? She had to share the moonrise with me.
Sometimes I truly love people. Happy full moon, everyone.