on the other hand

The long, cold season of darkness is a season of high activity for astronomers. As I was driving home last night, the nearly full moon was rising above the Green Mountains in the east. It shone in a silver/gold, mother of pearl. In the summer, the sun ranges high in the sky during the day, and the moon, in a logical manner if you think about it, is very low in the south. In the colder months, the trend is reversed. The sun is low in the sky, and the full moon cruises high in the blackness. The full moon, the "Beaver" moon is tonight.

As we walked homeward across the fields, the sun dropped and lay like a great golden globe in the low west. While it hung there, the moon rose in the east, as big as a cart-wheel, pale and silver and streaked with rose color, thin as a bubble or ghost-moon. For five, perhaps 10 minutes,  the two luminaries confronted each other across the level land, resting on opposite edges of the world.
In that singular light every little tree and shock of wheat, every sunflower stalk and clump of snow-on-the-mountain drew itself up high and pointed; the very clods and furrows in the fields seemed to stand up sharply. I felt the old pull of the earth, the solemn magic that comes out of these fields at nightfall. I wished I could be a little boy again, and that my way could end there.
My Antonia
Willa Cather