Sunset: 6:20pm. A first-quarter moon. A high of 72 and another humid night that feels like the wrong season. Last night I dreamt that I painted a picture and could not tell if it was god or the devil because the image was too big for its frame. Then I had a horribly complicated dream about playing darts and spitting up green caterpillars. “We are quite probably dreaming all the time,” said Carl Jung. “But consciousness makes so much noise that we no longer hear the dream when awake.”
The moon was beautiful tonight, so striking that it silenced my idiot head chatter. It was a perfect crescent that dangled over the street, and I stopped in the middle of First Avenue and took a picture even though I knew there was no way to capture it.
