Resurrection

Moonshot

She sat silent for years.

Tonight, she hums.

And she won’t go gently.

Wind howls across her bow.

The breakers flip. One by one. Old systems stir. Lights flicker. Fans spin.

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Not sleek. Not polished. But alive.

The radar pulses green — not touch-sensitive, a bygone relic that defied obsolescence.

Her core glows under green light. Cables twitch. LEDs blink. A machine dreaming in silence.

Overhead, solar wings stretch into the night. Steel ribs support her new crown. Unconventional. Unequal. Unapologetic.

The name glows last.

M O O N S H O T

Still chasing the moon — never going gently into the night.