The full moon last night, the Flower Moon, looked like a glowing orb, plugged in and pulsing. The earth tilts away, clicking off time zones. Each set of eyes that take it in join in the rare moment of seeing things the same way. Perfectly beautiful. Speechless.
Responding to beauty is one of the things that makes us human. Like love, we know it when we see it. And like love, there’s more than meets the eye. That glowing moon is actually something else. It sits rock solid in orbit, bouncing the sun’s rays and energy back to us. We are here, the moon is there, and our sun, off-stage in the Milky Way, conducts the whole orchestra.
The moon is our unlikely connector, not exactly being what we need it to be, asking us questions we can’t really answer. From our back porches, separated from the day, knowing and not knowing, there is nothing left but to toast the whole damn thing.