mensuration

Last night, as the nearly full moon rose, she wore a ruby pendant 'round her neck. It shone brilliant over the horizon, before the moon rose high enough that they both appeared smaller and she outshone her jewelry.
Then, as I drove home from the gym, she was directly overhead, pendant still lying on her collarbone, and a rainbow colored halo encircled them. A cool, but humid sky, mistified the whole scene and softened the edges and made the whole picture rather dreamy. It was beautiful enough that a friend called to tell me, "go outside!" "I'm there," I said.
As I stood and looked straight up at the wonder, I thought of all my recent rambles about time, and the passage of time, the night sky for the marking of seasons, the moon and her 28 day cycle, and I saw, in the disc with a halo, a meter signature. Not merely a time signature though, one that represented perfect tempus, perfect prolation. His time. I looked up and thought, here is God, using a man-made symbol to assure me that his timing is perfect. Though I feel the tempo is dragging, God is playing on the back of the beat too much, his tune is too syncopated, he assures me he knows what he's doing. He's the composer, I'm just to play. He is born in one place and time for all places and all times.
I felt him there. I feel him here. In the exposition, development and recapitulation.