Almost by accident I was in the park watching my kids when a
crowd gathered to watch the supermoon rise. Inexplicably, the crowd
was misinformed about the expected time of the moonrise. The wait
dragged on and on. Darkness fell. I didn’t have the glowsticks I would
normally bring to a night-time play session. As a result I was desperately searching for my kids in the dark the moment they ran away. The first crack of the moon over the horizon was hidden by a tree. I didn’t even notice, because at the moment of moonrise I was beside myself hunting for my kids in the dark.
Kids located finally, I looked again at the horizon. Behind the
bare branches of the tree was the impossibly huge disk of the moon,
almost fully risen. It was blood red.
I had taken the risk of staying out after dark with my kids because I
hoped the moonrise would be a magical moment. But it didn’t feel magical.
Or if it was magic, the magic was primordial and terrifying.
A bit later, when as the moon rose it faded from red to a brilliant orange, another parent pointed to it and said “It’s a Trump moon.”
I said “Yea, I’m on edge.”
“We all are,” he said.
“Everything about this is strange.” he continued. “It is so warm; we are all in shirt sleeves. There are still leaves on the trees. It is like a summer playtime. Yet it is full dark at five o’ clock.”
He was right. It didn’t feel like late fall. It felt like a long
glorious summer evening of play. Except full darkness had fallen suddenly over it. One searched hopelessly for lost children under the
useless illumination cast by the rise of a massive blood-red moon.