The most amazing moon has graced the Northwest evenings for the past several nights. Wispy and yellow, waxing then waning. It’s so bright, a beacon in the black summer sky. I can reach up and cup it with my hands. I even blow it a kiss.
It is the moon that possesses the power to move oceans. And the moon that lights our way when the sun is shining for the other side, so that this spinning universe is never dark, and we are never alone.
I look at the moon, and I think of every other soul looking at the moon, and oneness overcomes me. We’re not that different, it turns out. I saw a post the other day, Are You Hanging By A Thread? and I smiled because I’ve felt that way more than once this summer.
Like I’m hanging on by a thread.
All I can do is reach around for more, gathering each individual thread into a braid, a rope thick enough to climb up and over. The end of summer is bittersweet; I’m mostly ready to move on, but regretful that I didn’t DO more. I’ve been so busy and distracted by who-really-knows-what that, as one example, I haven’t ridden my bike once this whole summer. Until today.
I’m sad to admit it out loud, but it’s true. And today was glorious; gliding across the pavement, the wind whipping through my lungs, giving thanks and praise for my legs, for their power to propel me up a hill. I don’t know why it took me so long to get here. And now the summer wanes, the rain and the cold will inevitably return over night, and I worried that I lost my chance.
Then, I changed my mind. I decided that the end of summer doesn’t have to mean anything except for shorter days. If I can ride 40 miles in the snow, I can do anything, right?