MOON IS UP

Or rather was up. Last night, as I was coming back from Cuajimapla I saw a massive, glowing, orange ball hanging from the sky. "What the hell is the sun doing up at this time?" I asked myself realizing as I had finished formulating the thought that what I was actually looking at was the moon. I was in a trance. Even since I was a sleepless teenager I used to stare out of my window at either the stars, the planes or the moon. I have pics of those times, of the moon, where it appears as a little white dot somewhere at the corner of the nighbour's house. Not a good photographer.

Then at the university the magic increased. I used to go in the afternoon, so it was common to have classes after sunset and commonly these classes were attended by the moon peeping through the curtains of the classroom that were never fully covering them. I fell in love with three things at the same time: the moon, Spenser and my Renaissance teacher. I still remember quite vividly the night he read , "With how sad steps thou wanderst oh Moon". He was Spenser himself back to life. I was young, he was young. It was postpuppy love.

Twenty years later we met again and after a cup of coffee to catch on with all that had happened in that span of time, we ended in my bedroom, unveiled by curtains and with a huge and white moon cynically spying on us. It was impressive.

A year later, the moon was white, round, and luminous. This time it could not stare through my new curtains.