Leo adjusted the tripod of his telescope, making sure the legs were steady on the damp grass of his backyard. The night air was crisp, and the sky above was a deep, velvet blue. He had been waiting all week for this specific night because the moon was in its waxing gibbous phase. This meant the craters along the "terminator"—the line between the light and dark sides—would look extra deep and dramatic through his lens.
"Found it!" Leo whispered to himself. He squinted through the eyepiece, slowly turning the focus knob until the blurry white circle transformed into a sharp, rugged landscape. To Leo, it looked like a giant scoop of cookies-and-cream ice cream, covered in ripples and gray pits. He was searching for the Sea of Tranquility, the flat volcanic plain where the first humans had landed decades ago. Even though he knew he could not see the actual lunar lander with a small telescope, just knowing exactly where it sat made his heart race.
As he watched, a thin, wispy cloud drifted across his view. It looked like a ghostly veil covering the luminous surface. Leo sighed and stepped back, looking up at the sky with his naked eyes. He thought about how the moon is Earth’s only natural satellite, orbiting our planet like a silent guardian. It was amazing to think that while he was standing there in his pajamas, that massive rock was reflecting sunlight from thousands of miles away and pulling on the Earth’s oceans to create the tides.
Suddenly, the cloud moved on, and the moon emerged brighter than before. Leo returned to the lens. The craters were so clear that he could see the shadows cast by the mountain peaks in the center of some of them. He felt small, but in a good way—like he was a tiny part of a very big, very beautiful universe. He stayed outside until his mom called him in, the silver light of the moon still dancing in his eyes long after he closed his bedroom curtains.
