(Photo from flickr.com)
The moon and I have been playing a game. It started several nights ago when snow still covered the ground from the winter storm. The vertical blinds were drawn shut in the bedroom. I was awakened in the middle of the night by a bright light shining through an open slat. Excited to see moonlight, I opened the blinds. Over the frosted apple tree, the crescent moon hung like a yellow cat's eye. I lay there enjoying the beauty of her pinkish halo. Below her on the left a bright star sparkled red. Mars and the moon together were a rare sight. Slowly, she traversed the sky heading west on her journey.
Anxiously, I awaited her return the next night, waking often, but there was no sign of her luminance. It was almost 4:30 before she paid me a visit, shining her light on my pillow. I thought about that old moon--how everyone I ever knew or read about throughout history had gazed up at her in loving adoration. The moon has no light of her own. She gets her glow from the sun, reflecting it like a mirror. She seemed to send long moon beams into my eyes as I blinked, watching. Her healing beauty stirred my soul and soon I dozed back to sleep in a restful peace, thankful for her gift of light.