Point and Shoot Image of a SuperMoon
Would we, if it were not broadcast, be aware of the SuperMoon? Would we feel compelled to inspect it? Some people would. Others, who relish the outdoors, would not because watching the sky comes naturally; it is not a special occasion.
Planets orient us. They make us feel part of something larger than ourselves. For these reasons, a planet should not become a spectacle.
On the evening of the rise of the SuperMoon, I rode my usual course. Before leaving, I made a mental note to compare this moon with typical full moons. I’m not one to believe hype.
I rolled through the darkness on my bike, under the watchful gaze of a blazing natural spotlight. It illuminated my path with a diffuse, unfocused light, clearly not as bright as my ultra white LED headlight. Between the buildings, I intermittently glimpsed the much touted moon. Was it larger than usual or did I just perceive it so because of what I had been told? I wasn’t sure.
The breath shooting out from my mouth reminded me of the moon’s cold light – so antithetical to the sun’s lustrous heat. The air was too biting for a nearly spring night. It was one day shy of spring – according to the calendar. Yet it would be days or weeks until a steady warmth settled into our environs.
Unimpressed by the SuperMoon, I continued my ride. This night felt no different from any other.
Once home, I put my bike to bed. Without changing out of my cycling clothes, I slung the recycled nylon pouch housing my diminutive camera over my shoulder to go out for a stroll. Like most zealous cyclists, I prefer perpetual motion; and a walk would afford me more time to examine and record the moon.
Point and shootdom could not compare to the fiery likeness of telescopic photography. Capturing a planet from such a great distance takes powerful magnification. But I wanted a keepsake, no matter how dilute.
Outside, luminescence exuded from the glowing orb floating high above the treetops. I shot several photos of that speck in the sky. No one would ever recognize those photos as images of a SuperMoon. But, really, what difference did it make? I captured this event for no reason other than to say I was there.
Carefully putting my camera back into its sheath, while trying to avoid placing fingerprints on the LCD monitor, I eyed the moon, wondering what I was supposed to see. What struck me was what I didn’t see. Where were the stars? Continuous black velvet stretched across the upward expanse, with nothing but a pale yellow ball to deface its surface. I pondered this enigma for a few moments and then concluded my official appreciation of the SuperMoon.
Having fulfilled my mission, I retreated to the shelter of my home. Everywhere online I was bombarded by news of the SuperMoon. Social Networks were ablaze with repetitive chanting about the lunar happening, whipping followers into a sharing frenzy with friends they would never know.
Before my very eyes, this planetary event became an Internet meme – a celebration of the great outdoors, in cyberspace, through the solitude of our electronic connection. It made me reflect: should we replace outer space with an infinite, incorporeal cyberspace? Or should we remain united with the universe, wheeling under a vast sky on our human powered machines?
