If the moon could talk to us, I sometimes wonder what it would say.

I wonder if it would address humanity as a whole, or comment on our individual days. If it was a conscious entity, I wonder if it would shine more brightly when it felt pleased with our contributions, and whether its phases and moonless nights would instead be tied to disappointment.

I imagine that the nights when it’s shrouded in a misty cape could be indicative of tears it would cry at our lack of compassion for each other. On mornings when it’s setting in the west as the sun comes up in the east, I imagine its playful side coming out, and that it has just spent a nighttime playing tag or hide and seek with its friend.

When it’s a half moon, I wonder if it’s maybe being a little coy and trying to grab our attention so that our gaze shifts from the trenches to the heavens, from the common to the magical. I think it would tell us that we spend too much time in the weeds and not enough time getting our head in the clouds.

Some people see different things when they look up at the moon. Some see a halo of white around it, while others see pale blue or soft pink. If the moon could read its audience the way a presenter or public speaker does, perhaps it changes its colors to the one that most resonates with the viewer. Blue may move some, while pink inspires others. Maybe those who see white will feel a sense of renewal, of peace — at the exact time they most need to feel it.

I know what the moon is, but imagining it as more makes me grateful for the imaginations we’ve all been blessed with, for the sense of wonder we’re sometimes wrapped up in and for inspiration that can come from any place, at any time.