—until this past May. The three of us stood in the backyard with early twilight in process, a darker blue tone descending over the garden wall. Again we pointed at the satellite, a large pale rock level to the roof of our house. One could discern clearly all of the craters, the image of a cracked face of an ancient man smiling down. Somehow this time awareness opened in Brendan's eyes. He pointed likewise, smiling suddenly. "Schtar," he said.
"No," we corrected him, "Moon."
His eyes blinked, in full concentration. I could see his lips struggling with the syllable— he tried again, resulting in nonsensical sounds. But he smiled. A metaphor was built in less than a minute. His world gained new boundaries. A connection was developed.
The three of us remained outside for a few more moments, Brendan's perception locked on a new reality.
380/ For the first time, our child notices the ghost moon rising near our house.