Tonight, if you step outside and look up, you will find the Moon at roughly half-lit — a clean, bright crescent growing toward full on its right side, hovering somewhere between a sliver and a lantern.
Tonight, if you stepped outside and looked up, you would find almost nothing to see. The moon has slipped away entirely — just one thin percent of its face lit, the rest swallowed by shadow. This is the New Moon, the moment when the lunar cycle folds back on itself and begins again.
Look up tonight and you will find the Moon worn down to roughly half its face, the left side lit and the right side dark, hanging in the southeastern sky like a lantern someone has begun to shutter.
Tonight the Moon is as close to full as it gets without quite being able to call itself anything else: shining at ninety-nine percent illumination in the sign of Aquarius, it hangs in the sky like a lantern left on by someone who wanted to make sure you could find your way home.
Tonight, if you step outside and look up, you will see a moon that is exactly half-lit — a clean, bright semicircle hanging in the sky. This is the First Quarter Moon, and it arrives roughly one week after the New Moon planted its seed in darkness.
Tonight the sky holds no moon. Or rather, the Moon is there — she has not gone anywhere — but she has turned her lit face entirely away from us, merging with the Sun so completely that she becomes invisible to the naked eye.
Look up tonight and you will find the Moon wearing roughly half her face in light — but that light is fading. The Last Quarter Moon arrives as a precise midpoint between the fullness we have already passed and the darkness still ahead.
Tonight, look up. The Moon is full — completely, perfectly full — sitting directly across the sky from the Sun and catching every bit of its light. This is the midpoint of the lunar cycle, the moment of maximum illumination, the peak before the slow turn back toward darkness and rest.