Yesterday dissolved into a typical evening on another campsite part way through our campervan tour of New Zealand.
After a day of many miles and even a ferry crossing from South to North Island, I had cooked dinner (bashed potatoes and bacon) on our campfire (well, the built in gas hobs in the boot of our van) and throughout Betty had kept my wine glass full with a local Martinborough wine. Then we sat down on a picnic table helpfully found near our van's pitch and we began to eat. Rather than talk idly we individually inspected our new surroundings, surveying our home for the night. As I glanced out across the backdrop of that night’s campsite I saw something I’d never seen before, at least not consciously.
“Wow. Look at the moon.” I told Betty. The proudly full moon was rising in a distinctly sun-like manner, as if to say to the solar day shift worker "It's my turn now, let's be having you!"
It was a slow but steady climb in the darkening blue sky. As we both swallowed our mouth fulls and reached for our cameras in silent synchronicity, I wondered why I’d never seen the moon rise before when surely it goes through this motion each and every evening.
Is it just me? Have you ever watched the moon rise before?
I suppose one explanation is our obsession with the sun setting over rides any lunar love we may have. I’m guilty of this as much as anyone with sunsets being my chosen topic for previous blog posts here, here and here. However, after witnessing the moon rise over a horizon of New Zealand mountains I’ll endeavour to look out for the moon’s entrance as much as I will the sun’s departure.
Frances M. Thompson
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