A Whiter Shade of Pale

“Mummy,” he told me as we drove home one evening last week,"do you know that the moon has no light of its own?”

“Yes, I know …”

“It just reflects the light of the sun,” he continued.

Above us, the not-quite-full moon cast a milky light on the time-worn walls of Mdina. He was right, of course, my Mischief  Maker. But inwardly, I sighed. Just a little bit. Would he always be so analytical, so scientifically correct? Would he grow up and remain unmoved by the sight of a beautiful, full golden moon suspended over the darkness of a bay, casting its reflection on the ink-dark water? I thought of all the poems, all the love songs and famous movie scenes inspired by our closest celestial neighbour and I realised that, despite the facts, despite the truth staring me straight in my eyes, my moon would always shine with its own light. I wanted to tell my son all  this. I wanted him to see the moon through my eyes. But I didn’t. I just smiled, secretly. With the passing years, he would learn that even scientists, occasionally, need a little romance in their lives.

We were almost home, my son still bombarding me with facts about the moon, the stars and everything in between. Above us, the golden orb rode higher in the sky, bathing us in a light that was a whiter shade of pale.