With its platinum light seeping through frosted windows from the glasses' cold invitations, the moon itself is but an illuminated silver teardrop dripping ever-so-slowly down the speckled, unreachable sheet of black expanse. The clouds drift by without notice, occasionally trying to vainly wipe some form of encouragement to that circular drop in the consolation as if saying, "We too are forgotten! You, moon, are not alone in this existence of invisibility!" (Gladding, 2002).Yet the moon is deaf and hears not, for it ...