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Canoe Moon
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My grandfather used to sit on the back porch of his Edmonds house and look at the moon. Sometimes I would join him.
"When it's like that," he would say, gazing, "like a canoe, then that means it won't rain. The boat holds the rain in."
My five-year-old eyes stared at the fingernail moon, as I tried to understand. I knew it didn't work that way, but I didn't know how it did work. I certainly wasn't going to contradict him. His hands were big and his temper was quick, and though he wouldn't have used it while looking at the moon, I wasn't sure.
Tonight, driving home from choir practice, there it was. La luna bella, her canoe holding back the rain:
"When it's like that," he would say, gazing, "like a canoe, then that means it won't rain. The boat holds the rain in."
My five-year-old eyes stared at the fingernail moon, as I tried to understand. I knew it didn't work that way, but I didn't know how it did work. I certainly wasn't going to contradict him. His hands were big and his temper was quick, and though he wouldn't have used it while looking at the moon, I wasn't sure.
Tonight, driving home from choir practice, there it was. La luna bella, her canoe holding back the rain:
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