Last night when I got home, the air was still. High in the sky I saw the summer moon, swelling towards fullness, sailing past the cypress tree. Clouds gathered underneath, the clouds that today have brought welcome rain to thirsty trees and gardens.
Once, people reckoned time in moons. ‘Many moons ago,’ they would say as they thought of time past, or ‘two moons hence.’ I found myself doing the same. ‘Last waxing moon,’ I reflected, ‘I was finishing work for the year, and preparing to go on holiday.’ I remembered how many tasks there were to do, and how busy I was.
Now, under this liquid moon that bulges into a heart shape, while a dark heart opens up in the clouds beneath, I am relaxed and ‘well holidayed.’ I find myself wondering how this moon looks in the northern hemisphere, where friends will be seeing it rise above snowy landscapes, and how it looks in Brazil where so many lives have been lost in floods and landslides; how it looks in countries at war, and how it looks in countries at peace.
What does this moon see when it gazes down at you tonight?