月光沉睡在这岸边多么甜美！
　　我们坐在这里，
　　让音乐之声潜入我们的耳内……
　　月光摇曳树影，撒下一地银光。抬头凝望高悬天边的月，恬静柔和，令人沉醉。无论是如钩新月，还是如盘满月，月，总有一番别样风情。都市生活的忙碌往往容易让人变得浮躁焦虑，这时，不妨找点时间，去看看月出，让温柔的月引领我们找寻内心的安宁与平静。
　　嘘—天高云淡，凉风习习，静待月出，心随月动……
　　—Maisie
　　
　　There is a hill near my home that I often climb at night. The noise of the city is a far-off murmur. In the 2)hush of dark I share the cheerfulness of crickets and the 3)confidence of owls. But it is the drama of the moonrise that I come to see. For that restores in me a quiet and clarity that the city spends too freely.
　　From this hill I have watched many moons rise. Each one had its own mood. There have been broad, confident harvest moons in autumn; shy, misty moons in spring; lonely, white moons in winter, rising into the utter silence of an ink-black sky; and smoke-4)smudged, orange moons over the dry fields of summer. Each, like fine music, excited my heart and calmed my soul.
　　
　　Moon gazing is an ancient art. To prehistoric hunters, the moon overhead was as 5)unerring as a heartbeat. They knew that every 29 days it became full-bellied and brilliant, then sickened and died, and then was reborn once again. They knew that the 6)waxing moon appeared larger and higher overhead after each succeeding sunset. They knew that the 7)waning moon rose later each night, until it vanished in the sunrise. To have understood the moon’s patterns from experience must have been a profound thing.
　　But we, who live indoors, have lost contact with the moon. The 8)glare of street lights and the dust of pollution 9)veil the night sky. Though men have walked on the moon, it grows less familiar. Few of us can say what time the moon will rise tonight.
　　Still, it tugs at our minds. If we unexpectedly encounter the full moon, huge and yellow over the horizon, we can’t help but stare back in awe at its 10)commanding presence. And the moon has gifts to 11)bestow upon those who watch.
　　I learned about its gifts one July evening in the mountains. My car had mysteriously 12)stalled, and I was 13)stranded and alone. The sun had set, and I was watching what seemed to be the bright-orange glow of a forest fire beyond a 14)ridge to the east. Suddenly, the ridge itself seemed to burst into flames. Then, the rising moon, huge, red and 15)grotesquely misshapen by the dust and sweat of the summer air, 16)loomed up out of the woods.
　　Distorted by the hot breath of earth, the moon seemed somewhat ill-tempered and imperfect. At a nearby farmhouse, dogs barked nervously, as if this strange light had wakened evil spirits in the weeds.
　　But as the moon lifted off the ridge, it gathered firmness and authority.
　　Its complexion changed from red, to orange, to gold, to impassive yellow. It seemed to draw light out of the darken-ing earth, for as it rose, the hills and valleys below grew dimmer. By the time the moon stood clear of the horizon—full-chested, round and the color of ivory—the valleys were deep shadows in the landscape. The dogs, reassured that this was the familiar moon, stopped barking. And all at once I felt a confidence and joy close to laughter.

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