A pink supermoon is not really pink. The name is a northern Native American reference to an early-blooming wildflower, ground phlox, and is first seen across North America as spring begins.
I was playing hide-and-seek with clouds when trying get the pink supermoon, but I was taken by the silver ‘moon’ lining on the clouds. So there is always a silver lining, even in the deepest, darkest of moments.
Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.