I finally saw that ghostly gallon tonight, hiding as if not to be found, behind a substantial lot of trees. It loomed as if seeking something beyond its reach. Its radiance, the pale moonlight spilling over things, gave away its hiding spot. It was only a sliver, as if a jagged knife, slicing threw the nights air, to show its sorrow for its loss of volume. It searches for the sun with no avail. If it is lucky, a few times a year, it will catch a glimpse of the sun as it is going down. But it is faint as if not really there. A shadow, or an outline, of the night ahead. It is majestic in its sorrowful beauty. Something the sun will never posses.