Tuesday night the moon donned a waxing gibbous, blasting its nearly full body through blinds I can never seem to shut tightly, so much do I want the sun’s company during the day, and then the moon’s when the sun’s seen fit to sink below this prized, peak-studded horizon.
I have moons on my mind lately. Maybe because the moon’s been especially bright as of late. Maybe because the moon’s always especially bright here with so few clouds to cloak the sky from necks accustomed to craning upward, eyes eagerly seeking seas of stars.
Maybe because lately I find myself awake during the darkest hours of the much too early morning, my body not rife with the sort of fatigue it’s grown accustomed to needing, my recently acknowledged broken big toe deciding it doesn’t much care for sleeping, and my mind full of light, bathed in happy anticipation.
I lie awake and watch upcoming plans clad in soft orange hues ambling quietly over the horizon. I smile like Carroll’s Cheshire cat as I try to count the myriad more yet to come, dipped in brilliant yellow and gently tickling the nape of my neck. I sit still and listen to steady breathing and memorize beloved silhouettes and think about all the books I’d read if the day would only sprout a few more hours of unscheduled time.
Still, with all the bustling that is forever rustling the golden-tipped leaves of all my favorite trees, my bones are endlessly thankful ones, my skin full to the brim with grateful words and tingly feelings, my feet sure of brutally beautiful trail miles patiently awaiting them just around the riverbend.
A moon battered into being by another moon was the topic of a cozy coffee-shop conversation with dear friends this past springtime. One I still remember thanks in large part to a charming and incredibly alight nine-year-old who himself possesses an impressive memory and a fondness for storytelling and the Science Channel.
There are similar theories as to how our own moon found itself orbiting earth in a delicate give-and-take I most days forget to stop to appreciate.
I find it comforting, perhaps strangely so, to think something so beautiful and bright and lasting–something so innately essential–can come from something so initially jarring, so unexpected.
A dear friend with an age chasing mine texted to tell me she’ll be gifted a blue full moon tomorrow for her thirtieth day of cake. I’d no idea of the celestial significance, only the phrase I’ve employed along with countless others to signify a special and presumably rare occasion, a once in a great while sort of story. And indeed it is that.
More specifically, it’s a bonus moon: An additional lunar cycle that will light the sky alongside our typical twelve. It happens every few years, and is the result of accumulated solar calendar days.
There’s something profound and profoundly simple about the sun and the moon making the best team this planet has ever seen.
But lest I metaphor you to death, what I’m mostly trying to say is: What a great while this has been, this is, this continues to be.