in which we learn that there is west and east everywhere

After work in Oakland today I went to Emeryville to reconnect with Devon, Kit and Taylor from my time in Vermont last summer at Farm and Wilderness. We beat the sunset to the Albany Bulb, a tract of land next to the Bay that is simultaneously a wild nature preserve and strewn with urban wreckage. We watched the sun set towards the west behind San Francisco and the distant Golden Gate bridge and then frolicked amongst the huge pieces of drift wood and ship steel which had been refashioned into postapocalyptic sculptures of giant people and their animal friends. The moon was close to the ground towards the east, huge and almost a goldenrod yellow. When we came around the northern point of the park it was framed by the hands of huge steel woman who looked to be holding it in the sky. It was one of those moments that we could recognize even in the moment how lucky we were to witness it. Within minutes the moon had lifted above the horizon and hovered above those strong hands, small, bright and white. If we hadn't seen it moments before, it would have been unclear if she was throwing or catching it.