The stark winter moon illuminates the dry grasses in the field next door, washing out the color until it looks like a field of snow. The fallen garden plants cringe in the contrasting rays, hunkering down in the chill air, knowing their glory days are over. So much has transpired around them this season and they would like to pause and think a few things through, but the moonlight is keeping them from doing so with laser like beams disturbing their reverie. They are busy instead lifting up their limp, frost damaged leaves in dismay, remembering how beautiful they were in July.
I too would pause for some serious reflection but my mind is sluggish from lack of sleep and filled with trivia taking up valuable space while larger matters tap their toes outside waiting in line. While I should be contemplating the mysteries of the universe, I ponder when I will have a few moments to go out into the fields and gather some dried grasses and branches with red berries to make winter arrangements in the house. Always, always, I am making my nest. Wanting to make a beautiful place for friends and family to sit and talk and eat and dream. It seems like such a humble goal. Yet getting to that quiet space will take all the energy I can muster on this chilly night, illuminated by the stark winter moon.
The very shape of my own hand, holding this work of art that is the pen that Daniel has given to me makes me pause in wonder. Maybe these simple things ARE the mysteries of the universe and the moon is trying to tell me so.