Cloudless moon-lit night tonight where I live. Spent probably good 20 minutes wrapped in my blanket outside, in the cold just admiring up at the sky. Many times I've embarrassingly unsuccessfully tried to put into words just what exactly looking up at the moon makes me feel, what it does to me really. It's a painful cliche, but the feeling is very akin to inspiration for me, and maintaining my dignity as a writer really the most I dare to try explain here. It really is no wonder to me that the moon has through out human history been such a universal object of worship. If it's beauty is able to make me, a person living in the 21st century, where every scientific aspect regarding the moon's allure has been thoroughly researched snd deciphered, feel just so inspired time and time again, I wonder what kind of effect it had to the average neolithic hunter-gatherer for example, to whom the moon was a complete mystery and its mystique completely unshrouded.