The Glorious Rising Moon Over New York City

Earlier this week I drove out of Manhattan to return to the Borough of Queens, where I live.

What an evening . . . .

As I drove east through Central Park on the 79th Street Transverse Road and neared Fifth Avenue, I saw the rising moon, huge and yellow, suspended low in the sky just above the pavement precisely between tall buildings on both sides of 79th Street. That moon was absolutely stunning, caught in the air exactly balanced by the looming structures to its north and south.

Brightly lit canals and plateaus and the familiar features of the moon were easily visible. Dead volcanoes, impact craters, and lava flows that have been viewed by astronomers for centuries could be seen with the naked eye. Large dark regions known as Lunar Maria formed eons ago by molten rock were clearly identifiable. An “oceanus” could be seen plus the moon features that observers have named iacus, palus and sinus.

This was mesmerizing. (I could have easily had an accident. Texting has nothing on the moon.)

As I continued east, turning south on Park Avenue, continuing east again, turning south on Lexington Avenue, and turning east onto 59th Street, the moon was again visible, barely tucked into the sky between the towering facades on both sides of the street.

The full moon, huge and yellow, was inviting me to dream.

I kept looking around to exchange glances with some other driver or passenger, to share this remarkable phenomenon, but could not catch anyone else’s eye.

Surely I wasn’t the only person in the city that evening to see this stunning sky with the yellow disc balanced effortlessly between the apartment houses on the east-bound roads.

Driving east over the Queensborough Bridge, I emerged onto Queens Boulevard, still heading east or slightly northeast, with the brilliant moon rising slightly higher and off to my right about 20 degrees.

The moon remained my companion on the right most of the way back to Rego Park—my sentinel, my guide, my inspiration. I felt like singing to Lady Moon, like murmuring a love song.

In the Middle Ages, a lunatic could be described as a person acting under the influence of luna (Latin for moon), and through the centuries moons might be blamed for a variety of actions deemed madness or dangerous.

But this past week that old moon clearly evoked a night for lovers, even though I was alone. With the moon. With that great big glorious rising yellow moon over New York.

Let us recall the thoroughly romantic movie Moonstruck, and the reverence shown the moon in that film as it shone over New York Harbor, viz. “Cosmo’s moon” and “La bella luna!” Mix in a bit of Puccini's La bohème and the evening would have been complete. Magnifico.