But we，who live indoors，have lost contact with the moon.The glare of street lights and the dust of pollution veil the night sky.Though men have walked on the moon，it grows less familiar.Few of us can say when the moon will rise tonight.
Still，it tugs at our minds.If we unexpectedly encounter the full moon，huge and yellow over the horizon，we are helpless but to stare back at its commandingpresence.And the moon has gifts to bestow upon those who watch.
I learned about its gifts one July evening in the mountains.My car had mysteriously stalled，and I was stranded and alone.The sun had set，and I was watching what seemed to be the bright-orange glow of a forest fire beyond a ridge to the east.Suddenly，the ridge itself seemed to burst into flame.Then，the rising moon，huge and red and grotesquely mishappen by the dust and sweat of the summer atmosphere，loomed up out of the woods.
Distorted thus by the hot breath of earth，the moon seemed ill-tempered and imperfect.Dogs at nearby farmhouses barked nervously，as if this strange light had wakened evil spirits in the weeds.
But as the moon lifted off the ridge it gathered firmness and authority.Its complexion changed from red，to orange，to gold，to impassive yellow.It seemed to draw light out of the darkening earth，for as it rose，the hills and valleys below grew dimmer.By the time the moon stood clear of the horizon，full chested and round and the color of ivory，the valleys were deep shadows in the landscape.The dogs，reassured that this was the familiar moon，stopped barking.And all at once I felt a confidence and joy close to laughter.
The drama took an hour.Moonrise is slow and serried with subtleties.To watch it，we must slip into an older，more patient sense of time.To watch the moon move inexorably higher is to find an unusual stillness within ourselves.Our imaginations become aware of the vast distances of space，the immensity of the earth and huge improbability of our own existence.We feel small but privileged.