Along with flowers, moon phases have names that are both poetic and self-explanatory. Tonight’s full moon is the Snow Moon, so called because it happens in February, a cold month in the northern hemisphere. But it sounds mysterious, as if the moon commanded the weather as well as the tides.
The moon figures large in folklore, as well as the imagination in general. It can be many things, including an elusive bowl of milk. It can cast magic over sleep, until you’re riding a giraffe through Times Square or slipping through other people’s dreams like a particularly hazel-eyed cat. The waxing moon can usher in talented furry visitors to comfort solitary sailors, and bring family members together even if they’re on opposite sides of the world.
I still want to know, though, what happens when the moon wanes. 
Lovely musings on the moon! How about Vachel Lindsay’s poetic answer to why the moon wanes?
The Moon’s the North Wind’s Cookie
The Moon’s the North Wind’s cookie.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there’s but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that . . . greedy
North . . . Wind . . . eats . . . again!