The weather has been beyond bleak. Having spent most of my life in the Midwest and East, the winters in Oregon are a trip to the beach. But we have winter, and we also have our fair share of irrational melt downs this time of year. Thoughts such as, "It's the end of the world," linger in the head this time of year. It's what my brother used to say in Minnesota when a spring storm would dump three feet of snow on the lawn just in time for Easter. Heartbreaking to one who yearns to be barefoot.
But last night the moon came up. To say it was magnificent doesn't do it justice, but it saved me from dreary thoughts. I had just left the barn, pitchfork in hand, sounds of the animals crunching hay as I shut the barn door, when I looked up and there she was.
"You know I'm here every night, why the gasps tonight?" she asked.
She rarely spoke directly to me. She is the moon, busy putting on nightly and daily performances with the tides, so for her to stop and just speak so directly to me was...important.
"Tonight you are washed in even more gold, and you're an earring to the tree you sit above," I told her.
All night, even in slight fog, I awoke to her warm light sprinkling a sense of optimism on the leaves outside the bedroom window.
