Sleeping with the moon

I don't pay much attention to the calendar and only note the days as to whether I have my son or not, but I do pay attention to the sky, and I was delighted to see the full moon on my drive in this morning. Three full moons ago I turned a corner, finally letting go of Lynnea and turning towards a life without the endless pain.

It started with a weekend on the far side of Wisconsin with my cousin Reb - her divorce from Henry had been final for several months then, and it was the first chance we'd had to spend some time together. Talking on the phone with her is fun, but I think it puts her into some sort of literate clever part of her brain, and it never feels very intimate to me.

Reb and I are close and always have been, though sometimes months and maybe years go by without us really opening up to each other. When the times come, they are deep and only slightly guarded, more so on her part than mine. I always suspected that, and this weekend she mentioned that she kept barriers up from me, which makes me a little sad but I suspect I understand.

The weather was gray and weepy, and Reb wisely chose for us to meet near Lake Michigan. Our first several hours together were spent walking the beach in the rain with the surf hissing and pounding and the gulls wheeling and calling lonely.

It was exactly right and Reb and I walked together in the flow, voice, mood, and motion a part of the waves and sand and wind.

Come evening we found a motel and sat talking till 6 in the morning, and after a short sleep we had an early lunch and then another long walk on the beach in a world turned remarkably wild and cold. The waves were playful and caught my feet several times though I tried to avoid them - such a silly game of tag, and such a joy to play.

The drive home was pure flow - endless long prairie and corn fields and rainy gray.

The day after dawned cold and bright and I realized it was my day for Glacial Lakes, a place of profound power and peace for me, and so I left work a bit early and drove there, arriving just before six. I ritualistically chose my clothes - blue shirt and utterly loose and breezy navy shorts. My walk wound up steep glacial kames and down into blue water filled hollows - the slant lit grass was blue and black and endless gold graced by hawks tracing the tight contours of land and I walked well and strong and long.

Just as the sun had set behind an enormous mound of grass covered hill, a trio of deer - buck, doe, and yearling - sprinted up and into the gold swirl corona of light. They leaped right, left, and into the sun, silhouettes of joy and grace, and I cried in grateful abandon.

Later I, still tracing contours and following a line of forest, rounded a corner and found the full moon huge and yellow floating over a hillside golden with the last light of the day, and I laughed in glee. I talked to the moon, intending a wish, but instead offered my love to the moon, then in gusts of silly happiness, I offered to make love to the moon, and there, embraced by trees and grass and the last calls of the day, I found a playful wildness dancing with me and I surrendered to the moment, unbridled and trustingly free.

Later, much later, after the stars had wheeled a bit and more miles had been traversed in darkness, I saw my car, still a long hook of trail away and tucked in a hollow, and I stopped and again looked to the moon, now more austere and silver bright. I looked long, then gathered up my light and gave it to the moon, and then from deep in me, unbidden but true, I made a wish that my far off friend might feel that light...