I wish you could have been there to see it, or I wish I’d had the nerve or the time to pull the car over to the side of the road and take better pictures. It was surreal. It was haunting. It was unearthly and moving and soul-shifting.
The moon had risen early and it was nearing on full; it hung just above the top of the mountains in front of us as we drove east, the sun slowly setting behind us. The scenery was washed in the gradually receding light and, as gently as a tide turns, changed from faded to blue to pink to deep purple. The sky moved through late afternoon and dusk and twilight and the air took on a sharp crispness permeated with the smell of trees and solitude. All of this while we were contained within a bowl of mixed-up landscapes: a lush valley of groves and fields surrounded by ancient, barren giants of mountains on the other side of which were only stretches of empty, empty desert. We drove through this and the moon, in all her other-worldly glory, watched over us the whole time, cradling us in her arms as we made our way home.