Moonrise

February 12, 2022

St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands

As you’ll quickly notice, the pictures have nothing to do with the story – just my effort at decoration.  The story takes place on our last Atlantic crossing in 1989.  I loved the midnight watch. Magic happened at that time of night.

As Tropic Moon sails westward across the Atlantic, I come on deck for my midnight to 4:00 a.m. watch, and take my favorite seat, padded with cushions, on the aft cabin top.  An audience of one, I settle in for the night’s entertainment.

The half-moon, an aging diva past her prime, is due to appear in an out-of-town performance at this second-rate Atlantic theater.  I glance around, taking in the tattered cloud-curtain across the eastern stage, and look above me to a covering of moth-eaten grayed cotton batting, gilded stars pasted to the ceiling twinkling through rends in the fabric.

Wooden Turkish Sailboat

With all in readiness, the moon begins her ascent to the stage, a figure dimly glimpsed through frayed curtain.  Orion, striding the sky above, in a fit of pique over the poor hunting conditions caused by the cloudiness, releases an arrow in the direction of the stage.  The arrow finds its mark, and beams of moonlight seep through tears in the curtain, staining the sea below.

Chania, Crete, Greece

The moon retreats to thicker cover, and when she reappears at a rift in the curtain, she is wearing a disguise of dark wispy clouds, drawn like a black lace mantilla across her face.

“Is he gone?” she asks.

“Yes,” I reply, pointing above.  “He’s behind that cloud bank seeking other prey.  It’s safe to come out now.”

A quick duck back behind the clouds for final preparations, and then the half-moon rises free of cover to fully reveal her beauty.  Glowing like a stemless chalice, or a bright brimming bowl, she allows her light to pour forth.  An undulating river of pure molten silver appears between dark sea-banks, flowing from the eastern horizon to the stern of Tropic Moon.

Lighthouse along the Portuguese Coast

Performing in concert with a chorus of constellations, a symphony of whistling sea-winds, and a can-can danced by clouds, the gracious leading lady bows, and the late-night show begins.

Bay along the Turkish Coast

OR