Wonder and the Moon
I’m at the beach, looking out at the Moon over the ocean.
It’s nighttime. The Sun’s rays are coming from behind me (and the Earth), hitting the Moon about a second and a half after it soars past our planet. I can see the way the Moon is lit up as a result of all these tiny particles of light flying past:
Some of those photons (the light particles I mentioned) are bouncing off of the Moon and then hitting the water in the picture I took, where they are then bouncing off the water and landing on a thin silicon wafer that converts light into electrons:
Can you see the angle in your mind’s eye? The Sun lights up the part of the Moon that’s facing it, so you can get a sense of where the Sun is based on how the light hits it. We used to do this all the time in art class when I was learning how to draw, focusing on where the source of light was so you’d know where to shade.
That means the Sun is casting its light from behind and somewhat beneath the planet in relation to the Moon.
You can really imagine the zig-zagging path of those photons when they finally emerge from the Sun after (perhaps, not always) hundreds of thousands of years. They shoot out in all directions from the Sun, radially, but the light that concerns us right now is that light that makes the path from the Sun to the Moon to the water to my phone.
Once it’s free of the Sun, that light flies for about 93 million miles (150 million kilometers) before hitting the face of the Moon that is turned toward Earth. From there, it bounces straight toward Earth, around 240,000 miles (384,000 kilometers), where it hits the Atlantic ocean. The final little zag is from the water to me and my phone, maybe 100 meters away.
Today’s takeaway is pretty simple: there is wonder in the mundane. The next time you’re stuck somewhere without your phone or something to read, try taking a real look around you. What do you see?
No matter what it is, there’s a good story behind it. If you become curious, don’t hesitate to try to figure out why something is a certain way.
The mundane is more interesting than a lot of people think it is.
Cool stuff. Notoriously difficult to do justice to a full Moon's light cascading off the ocean and onto your retina. Or your phone's retina.
We were out today and stopped in a rural vista and sat at a picnic table. I wandered off to find a tree behind which I could dispose of the Schlitt's Gay I'd enjoyed earlier. On my way, I discovered a large trail of ants. Pretty large ones. Their trail was a good five meters back to the hole in the ground where they'd built their nest. It was like a tiny freeway. Half going one way, half going the other, many of them dragging things. Bits of grass, a dead bug. I tried not to step on them.