It’s 10 at night and I forgot to mail a letter, so I step out into the darkness and drive the electric cart the quarter-mile to the mail shack.
As I pull out of my bumpy tree-lined lane to the road skirting the island’s airfield, there’s the moon. A big, orange moon, just rising in the inky indigo sky. Not quite full. Still a bit egg shaped, like a child’s balloon escaping to the top of the circus tent.
The mail shack is on the far side of the grass landing strip. I park on the roadside and walk across by flashlight. Careful not to step in deer poop. Dropping my letter in the big green mailbag.
Returning, I stop to gaze upward. Still low in the sky, just nestling in the treetops, the moon silhouettes needled branches sticking up like a Mohawk haircut on a big Douglas fir. Scanning the broad sky, my eye finds two sand-grain points of light that are the night’s first stars. No breath of air stirs. It’s silent and peaceful and beautiful beyond words.
Driving home, I leave the headlights dark and bump along by the light of the moon.
It has been a little while since I stopped to look around. Only after she was gone did I realize that I only ever really cared about such things so I could share them with her. “Oh, sweetie, you have to come see.” She’s why I would stop. She’s why I would look and listen.
Now I don’t have her to share it with. But I still have you.
6 thoughts on “Caring, and sharing, by moonlight”
And a wonderful way with words – almost like being there – thanks for sharing
Indeed, to find solice in sharing is not nearly enough, but it is still plenty. Thank you for your beautiful words.
And we will always be there for you
Enjoyed both the moonlit trip to the mail bag as well as learning about your mail system. Sounds much like ours. . .rather unconventional but it gets the job done! Hang in there. . .I think she was sharing that moon with you. . .
I’m sure you’re right.
Yes, you had lots of company there with you in the moonlight. You brighten my days- and nights – with your musings and word- paintings of things maybe we missed, and, thanks to you, we now see.