I recently took a class with the Writer's League of Texas on plotting, planning, and outlining. One exercise was to choose a word out of a list and write on it for two minutes.
I'm looking at Aristotle's moon, a pterodactyl's moon, the same moon that only the sea saw when sea was all there was. We never really stop to think about it; it's always "our" moon, for "our" time. But we're more the moon's than the moon is ours.
And since it only sees what the sun shows it, does that mean we are the moon's movie, its reality show, flickering season after season of I Wonder What They'll Do Next?
I wonder if it misses the pterodactyls.