Morning
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4:48
I am surprised by the numbers on the microwave clock. I'd thought that Hunter had awoken me after 5am for help going potty, and that had been some time ago. I couldn't go back to sleep.
Fumbling around in the dark, I pull on sweats, socks and shoes. I grab my mp3 player, and head out the door to find that what I'd thought was the first tendrils of creeping sunlight is actually the incandescent glow of a full moon.
It is unseasonably warm for this time of year -- 41 degrees, by the thermometer on the porch. I stand for a moment, allowing the sky to pour itself into my soul. The pearlescent clouds stretch unimaginably high and wide, and I feel myself falling into them.
I go for a walk. Popping on my music, I start with some lilting Dervish, then kick it into Abney Park. Up the hill of our street, around, and up some more, just walking. I want to dance, but my knee sternly reminds me that it's still not too happy with whatever I did to torque it the other day, so I walk. And walk. Up past the new houses, trying to concentrate on the side of the street that is still scrub and trees. Masses of clouds start to gather near the moon, absorbing its light into a pillow of darkness, yet not blocking the moon itself, which still cast stark, silver blue shadows against the ground.
Clicking through my tunes, I'm disappointed to find that Holy War isn't in this mix, so I settle for New Black Day, which seems lyrically antithetical to my mood.
I loop around some side street to start heading home. Unsatisfied with mere ambulation, I briskly stride upon the narrow curb holding back the dirt and what is left of our wilderness, balancing instinctively. A cluster of tall, dry flowers block my path, and as I step down to pass, I notice that the stalks, oddly colorless in the pale light, are swaying in a slight breeze. My music blocks small, outside sounds, but I pause, feeling their whispering rustle.
Down the hills, the turns. My knee is starting to let me know what it thinks of me, but I promise I'll stretch out thoroughly when we get home.
As I walk inside the house, I notice that the clock now reads 5:36. I would have liked to see the sunrise; maybe I'll go out again a little later, maybe not.
But at least I felt the magic of the moon.
I am surprised by the numbers on the microwave clock. I'd thought that Hunter had awoken me after 5am for help going potty, and that had been some time ago. I couldn't go back to sleep.
Fumbling around in the dark, I pull on sweats, socks and shoes. I grab my mp3 player, and head out the door to find that what I'd thought was the first tendrils of creeping sunlight is actually the incandescent glow of a full moon.
It is unseasonably warm for this time of year -- 41 degrees, by the thermometer on the porch. I stand for a moment, allowing the sky to pour itself into my soul. The pearlescent clouds stretch unimaginably high and wide, and I feel myself falling into them.
I go for a walk. Popping on my music, I start with some lilting Dervish, then kick it into Abney Park. Up the hill of our street, around, and up some more, just walking. I want to dance, but my knee sternly reminds me that it's still not too happy with whatever I did to torque it the other day, so I walk. And walk. Up past the new houses, trying to concentrate on the side of the street that is still scrub and trees. Masses of clouds start to gather near the moon, absorbing its light into a pillow of darkness, yet not blocking the moon itself, which still cast stark, silver blue shadows against the ground.
Clicking through my tunes, I'm disappointed to find that Holy War isn't in this mix, so I settle for New Black Day, which seems lyrically antithetical to my mood.
I loop around some side street to start heading home. Unsatisfied with mere ambulation, I briskly stride upon the narrow curb holding back the dirt and what is left of our wilderness, balancing instinctively. A cluster of tall, dry flowers block my path, and as I step down to pass, I notice that the stalks, oddly colorless in the pale light, are swaying in a slight breeze. My music blocks small, outside sounds, but I pause, feeling their whispering rustle.
Down the hills, the turns. My knee is starting to let me know what it thinks of me, but I promise I'll stretch out thoroughly when we get home.
As I walk inside the house, I notice that the clock now reads 5:36. I would have liked to see the sunrise; maybe I'll go out again a little later, maybe not.
But at least I felt the magic of the moon.
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