I return often to the rising moon. I am draw especially when events crowd ease and clarity of vision into a small corner of my life. This happens often in the fall. Then I go to my hill and await the hunter' s moon， enormous and gold over the horizon， filling， the night with vision.
An owl swoops from the ridge top， noiseless but bright as flame. A cricket shrills in the grass. I think of poets and musicians. Of Beethoven' s "Moonlight Sonata" and of Shakespeare， whose Lorenzo declaims in The Merchant of Venice， "How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank！ /Here will we sit and let the sounds of music/Creep in our ears." I wonder if their verse and music， like the music of crickets， are in some way voices of the moon. With such thoughts， my citified confusions melt into the quiet of the night.
Lovers and poets find deeper meaning at night. We are all apt to pose deeper questions — about our origins and destinies. We indulge in riddles， rather than in the impersonal geometries that govern the daylight world. We become philosophers and mystics.
At moonrise， as we slow our minds to the pace of the heavens， enchantment steals over us. We open the vents of feeling and exercise parts of our minds that reason locks away by day. We hear， across the distances， murmurs of ancient hunter and see anew the visions of poets and lovers of long ago.
有一座小山就坐落在我家附近，我常常会在夜间去爬山。到了山上，城市里的嘈杂就会变成远方的低语。在安静的黑夜里，我能够感觉到蟋蟀的欢乐和猫头鹰的自信。不过，看月出才是我爬山的目的，重新找回在城市中轻易就迷失的那种宁静与纯真。
在小山上，我看过很多次月出。每次月出都是各有风情，不尽相同。秋日里，圆圆的月亮露出丰收的自信；春风中，月亮灰蒙蒙地表达着羞涩；冬日里，冰轮般的月亮孤独地悬在漆黑的空中；夏日中，橘黄色的月亮朦朦胧胧地俯瞰着干燥的田野。每一种月亮都似精美的音乐，感动我的心灵，抚慰我的灵魂。