Just now, I stepped outside, to the balcony, to witness the full Moon, right over the roof of the house opposite to mine. Fully visible for the first time in many days, it looked beautiful, shining brightly, when the world around is soon to go to sleep.

It's supposed to be alien, I caught myself thinking: alien, lifeless - yet many people adore and love it so. I do, too, even if I don't understand it. I want to find an opportunity to sit on a roof of a tall building and watch it flow, invisibly-slowly, and marvel at how bright it is.

It's quick, too: after merely a few minutes, it could almost hide itself behind the chimney of the house opposite, and by now, it's probably hiding behind the tall aspen, the only tree that wasn't cut in our common yards. Damn, it's quick, but you will never see it with a naked eye. I wonder: if one were to meditate while looking at the Moon, would they notice their head moving?

It's warm, I believe; bright, therefore warm, at least to our minds - and because of it, attractive so. It seems soft, sweet, welcoming in the darkness of the night.

Nights are wonderful times, when one does no longer feel the pressures of the day, the pressures to commit, to conform, to be absolutely accepted by everybody; it's at night when we want to dare and express how we love somebody, and as they say "I love you too", spend the whole night with them by your side, in a mutual hug, silent but smiling because you're together in this beautiful time, when city sleeps, when no one's around and the rare stranger is welcome even if you feel uncomfortable around people during the day.

The Moon has probably something to do with it. It must have.