being still

It was “that” night, that summer night I think about when it is not summer. The moon rose and it was full, a Full Buck Moon, the time when tiny antlers emerge from the new bucks, and the locust were there under the one street light near my house and the chimney swifts were diving for mosquitos while the tree frogs sang their glorious song – it was there, all of summer condensed into one perfect night – I had a front row seat to all of this unexpected bliss. I do the night no justice with these mere words but I had to at least make note of it.

My chronological age is wonderful, it has helped me to see again. Some of the busyness is over, busyness that comes with jobs and raising children and although those were choice moments and accomplishments and certainly the importance of my life, these days of less “participation” are brilliantly colored by my greater ability to see. Of course, this intensity to see the beautiful details of life also works on the flip side, I see and feel the hurt also, seemingly more now than then. But this post is not about that, it is about the beauty from our starship – this is about the Full Buck Moon in a clear July sky and an early morning text from Elizabeth telling me she watched it hoover over the Cape with a light pink and blue sky as its backdrop on her early morning walk to work…so proud that she noticed. This is about these summer days that will keep warm thoughts in your winter head as you remember the cicadas that had made their ascent from the dark earth only to mate and then to die and the sounds of the night as much busyness takes place amongst the nocturnal animals, animals that have been pushed from their habitats as cities and towns sprawl but I still hear many of them here. I sometime catch the racket of the raccoons following the bayous looking for food and mischief and while I fear for my hens, I love the reassurance that they still have space to run.
Again, sudden darkness where the sun sets and the moonlight takes command as I wish I knew more about constellations. I wait for the illusive falling star and always wonder exactly how the moon moved to my kitchen window the next morning when I left it hanging over the woods. It seems so distant and different outside of the kitchen window as the day takes from it its glory. And there is the sun beneath it, another day, no matter what is happening here, there it sits doing what it must. It dries the dew on each blade of grass, it opens the blossoms on the summer flowers and stimulates the honey bees. It is unlike the moon, it is powerful in a physical way, it is basic and it is forceful. The moon lets you gaze at it and dream on it. It is not as (visibly) constant as the sun, sometimes it doesn’t show up and the night sky is not as peaceful but then, it appears as a sliver amongst the stars on a clear night and I stop to admire it as my thoughts soften and all the world seems mystical and beautiful as the night blankets all that is wrong.

Ironically, I write this ode to the moon, to the night, in daytime. The day is brilliant here with light and color and although the bloom of summer has peaked, much is left to enjoy especially in the early morning. My bees are busiest then, preparing for their excursions to find what is left of the summer nectar , fanning the hive before the heat of the day makes a bit of coolness impossible and tidying up the supers where, hopefully, more honey can be extracted in early fall. Busy busy, as I try not to be. bu ps