I’ve always been a little mad for the moon.
As a child growing up in Connecticut, I liked to lie on my favorite rock in our yard and night and stare up at the moon, fascinated by all its phases.
When the moon was full, I’d lie there until I was sure I could make out its face.
The kids at school liked to say that the moon was made of green cheese, but I knew that was silly because the moon wasn’t green. Anybody could see that. Yellow cheese, maybe.
Now I live near Copacabana beach in Rio de Janeiro, and it’s always a thrill to watch the full moon rise up over the ocean. Sometimes it’s so big and orange it takes my breath away.
Once, late at night, I stood on the beach with some other people from the neighborhood and watched a lunar eclipse. I stood there, still as can be, until the last tiny sliver faded away into the darkness.
finallygettingdowntobrasstacks 