A friend told me to go outside and look at the moon tonight. It’s huge, and bright, and pink, and rising. He didn’t know if I would be able to see it from where I lived, but I live at 2300’ elevation at the near highest point on my mountain, and assured him if I couldn’t yet, I would soon and so I went outside and was treated to absolutely spectacular views.
Through the trees and the mountain’s haze after the sudden rain shower that blew through a short while ago – and had been blowing through on and off all day, and all month to be honest – a pink glow hovered between the branches and the horizon just barely rising above the mountain’s treeline in the distance. I put on boots (everything is wet here these days) and decided to take the garbage out and go for a stroll. I thought about grabbing the dogs, but Reese is still recovering from surgery and we’re working on repairing the other leg with the intention of bypassing the need for a second one, and so I opted to leave them napping in the house since she already did her workout for rehab earlier this morning.
As I went past the neighbors, the moon still was low over the high mountain, not yet into view above their pond and so I continued, thinking that a little further down the backside of my road, I’d get to the other neighbor’s vast open field that looks across towards the valley. I hadn’t made it much farther than the first neighbors, however, when I heard something off in the woods. A snort and a scuffle. Deer. Fortunately. Perhaps leaving the dogs and walking quietly at dusk wasn’t the best idea, so I made some noise and reconsidered going the additional quarter of a mile along the woods and creek there, as I know our resident bear must be somewhere nearby this time of year. All the wild berries are starting to burst, and they’re a favorite of his.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to go much further. There was a break in the trees. A small one, but just enough to frame the pink moon in all her splendor, the sun’s dusky glow still echoing across the clouds with pastel light that complimented the nearly full moon’s pink illumination. I took a breath. I took a photo. I sighed.
How blessed am I to be here?
As I turned around, smiling, walking back to my home on the hill, I noticed the lightning bugs finally emerging from their winter hideaways. Surely they were happy for the respite from the rain and slightly warmer temperatures this evening even though the air was still heavy with humidity. They flickered, mostly in the dense wet grass, but a few in the trees across the way, signaling that summer, while maybe not fully here thanks to weather disruptions, was still on her way. Mother Nature has a way of making herself known even in life’s subtleties such as the soft glow of dusk, the snort of an unseen deer in the forest, fireflies in the grass, and the bellowing of bullfrogs along the overfull swales.
As I turned around, the earthy hues of the sunset danced just along the far horizon, offering a view rivaling that of the moon. Hanging peach and lavender swaths of sky between the v of trees headed down the other side of the road to the valley, the sun just out of sight, it reminded me that even when you are out of sight, your light can still shine. Sometimes, the most powerful messages are the ones we say in silence, painted in Nature, breathed into the Earth around us, ignited by the Sun, and reflected by the Moon.
Life looks different these days. Softer. More beautiful. More life. More love. Abundance resounds, from the lush grasses growing in fields and forests on my own property in places that never have before, to flower beds bearing fruit – fresh wild strawberries that until just the other day, have never so much as flowered. And not just a few, plentiful ones, ripe and ruby red, sweet like nature’s candy. The yard is overflowing with flowers getting ready to turn into wild blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries. The bear will be by to try some, I am sure, though all the fencing has been rehung, and then some, with updated electric chargers to keep the horses in, and the deer and bear, out.
The fox kits from last fall should be on their own now. The coyotes have been quiet. Bartholomule is happy with his new friend, and the others are relaxing peacefully munching grass and hay, happy for a break from the biting flies that have also been abundant this year. I’m riding again. Not that I ever really stopped, per se, but I rarely did so. It seemed I never had or made the time, but I do now and I remember why it means so much to me, and why it is something I always come back to when I need to find myself. Duke is getting older and grey. Cole is as sweet as ever. And the kid is fitting in nicely, with a promise of future that we look forward to, together.
I am sitting on my porch swing as I write this, waiting for the moon to make her appearance over my tree-line, without venturing down the road again. I’ve worked from this swing in the past, but haven’t this year due to all the rain and the bugs, and it’s lovely to be sitting here, relaxing, thinking, reconnecting, breathing. Simple being.
Astrid is mad she’s not allowed out, but we all know she’ll go out gallivanting under the nearly full moon, and not come in until well after midnight. Possibly with something in her mouth. Definitely wanting to burrow under the covers and snuggle, and even more definitely disrupting everyone’s sleep in the process, most of all mine. And I’ll allow her to do it and smile at her because that’s what she does and she makes me smile. She makes all of us smile. But tonight she’s inside, and me and the dogs will be in shortly as well, too, ready for bed and another day of abundance tomorrow.
It’s appropriate that I am sitting under the Strawberry Moon, alongside the wild strawberries that I just found around my front flowerbeds yesterday and have been snacking on since then. The moon will have lifted herself up over the rest of the trees shortly, and we will have a clear view from my bedroom and its beautiful front-facing windows, which I will leave open for both the fresh night air and to bask in the strawberry moonlight.
I am sure I will be out here tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll find a reason to stay up until the Strawberry Moon peaks. And perhaps not. But either way, tomorrow is supposed to be clear day and night, offering abundant sunshine and moonlight throughout and I know I will be here. This is home.
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