Darn traffic jams.
And there was not even so much of a peek to the cause of it. I amused myself by imagining that the drivers were going extra slow today because they were pointing and ogling at the roundness of the moon.
“Look at the moon tonight, dear…”
“I’d rather you look out for the car in front of you – brake now, will you?!”
Indeed, it was a sight to behold. Actually, it felt more like something you would see from a horror movie. The scene unfolds with the gentle swaying of trees against the dark blue sky, lit only by one lone bright moon, complete with silhouettes of bats flapping their wings past the grey clouds.
By the time I got home to reach for the camera, I had missed that moment. The moment that exudes pure mystery, yet has the power to send shivers right through your bones. The moment of feeling alone, abandoned, ostracised. The moment at dusk, where the transition between blue and black takes place. The moment when everyone, and everything else, has disappeared. The moment when we are swallowed into the night.
I missed it. That is why I had only that black canvas of a shot with an unidentifiable hanging lantern for show.
A day after I posted the previous entry, a lot of things were still going on in my mind. It felt incomplete: there were a few other points that I had forgotten to include into That Very Long Entry. I could have written an extension to it and call it Part Two.
Oh, well. Stuff it.
And as a friend once asked me incredulously: “What, people are beginning to blog about blogging, too?”
It helps not one bit, however, when the fact of the matter is – quantity matters more than quality these days. But knowing that you simply cannot do anything about it, is harder still. For all the steps that we have slowly taken to the front, we seem to be going three steps – backwards.