Moon Over Manhattan

I live under a rock, but I have a camera.  The night after the blood moon, I glanced over my shoulder and saw something huge and orange rising directly behind the Empire State Building like a mad, glowing pumpkin.  I gasped, dropping the letter in my hand.  In seconds, I swiped up my camera bag and tripod with the speed and precision of a trained military professional.  I ran up the cliff to the park, where Jersey City dreamers descend like homing pigeons on the pavilion on crisp, clear nights when Manhattan glimmers like a carnival over the Hudson.  The pavilion is condemned, a casualty of Hurricane Sandy.  This deters no one.

Only minutes had passed since I caught the first golden sliver, but the moon moves quickly at the horizon.  I pulled out my camera and started clicking clumsily through camera settings, oblivious to the other homing pigeons.  I’m a horrible photographer with a mediocre camera, and I didn’t have time for social graces.  The moon was escaping me, farther and farther with each passing second.

“Do you want to use my lens?,” a voice said from behind me in the shadows.  I heard myself say, “Yes.”

Moon Above New York 2014-10-09 052 cropped (t)

Moon Above New York 2014-10-09 036Moon Above New York 2014-10-09 043Moon Above New York 2014-10-09 068

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