I remember the first time I noticed the man’s face in the moon. It was the first time I really looked at it. He looked lonely up there, all alone. Did the sun keep him company?
I thought about how the moon is a kind of clock. The moon is out: I go to bed. The moon is on the other side of the earth: I am awake. The moon is visible in the blue sky: what a phenomenon. It marks the seasons. It says: Ready or not, winter is here. It says: Do you hear the birds singing? It’s spring.
I’ve heard it said that there is no scientific basis for the observation that everyone loses their mind a bit on the full moon, but I have to be honest: I subscribe to that pseudoscience. As a nineteen year old I taught ballet to kindergarteners and I can say in full confidence that they went rogue when the moon’s full fat face looked down on us.
Do we see a man’s face in the moon because we are narcissists? Or do we see it because it is worthwhile seeing ourselves in the world around us?