alea iacta esto


There’s a half moon over London tonight. Many thousand nights I have gazed upward, stunned by this giant rock  hitched at the gravitational hip to us. Sometimes it smiles a wicked smile, a smile so wide you could hear a chuckle. Other times, it just glows white, the biggest white circle in the sky. I have wondered often what it would be like to traverse its shadows. Wander it’s mounds and peer at whatever is on the other side. The dark side we never see. And what would Earth look like from there. Ooh, the earth is fifty times the volume of its little sister. That’s big! If a full moon can look so damn chunky from here, the earth from there would literally take one’s breath away. How blue would it look? Gosh, it would be bulbous and riveting. My heart would burst for longing. Longing to get back. What would I miss? Water. The sea. Rain. Liquid drops and the feel of H20 on my skin – cool when the weather’s hot and the other way round too. Quench thirsting water. I’d miss the sky and sun rays piercing through the clouds. Electromagnetic waves playing tricks on my retina. A rainbow at the end of my street. The wind, as it brushes your face on its speedy way to a funky low pressure party. Air, oxygen, clear and fresh away from the city. Green, green leaves, oh yes, photosynthesis, the mother of life. I’d want to see trees, plants, flowers, butterflies – the whole lot. Fish in the sea, even whales and dolphins. Beautiful earth. When the lights go out, I’d want to see you again. But water especially. The cradle of life.


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