It’s a “waning gibbous” moon here, on our seventh day away, and the Swinomish Channel is feeling a slight relief from that power-hungry Full moon, that grabber of great bodies of water, that creator of Grand Tides and Rushing Currents. 

But, “Ha, Ha, Ha!” Sun says, “Still in charge, I am. Take that, Little Moon, stealer of earth’s affections. I lend warmth and light and make existence possible, yet you, Little chip of pocked rock, you get the gaze, you get the pitter-patter of people’s hearts and you get the sailor’s attention (Oh, right, I’ve heard it —“red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” sure. Myth is mine.)

“I suggest that today, sailors notice that thanks to me, your appearance is called ‘waning gibbous.’ The laugh is mine,” says bright morning sun. “Little Rock chip is waning, weakening; waa, waa, waa. Little Rock chip is gibbous—hunchbacked, and will be so for days while my full glory shines!

PineAweigh holds no opinion here, no preference of bodies in this celestial conversation. She appreciates both. What a wimp.