The moon shines her silver fingers through my open window and gently touches my cheek. I open my eyes to see the time; it’s 3AM. I roll over, snuggle into my covers, and close my eyes again. But I can’t close out the moon’s invitation, her call to go outside and join her in the magic of the night.
I slip into a warm fleece jacket and muck shoes, leash Petra, and step into the night. Hovering over the high-reaching branches of the black locust tree, the moon moves in brilliant rhythm with Mars, her partner for tonight’s dance. The two of them shine so brightly they have the sky to themselves, other than the Big Dipper, who watches from his spot in the northern sky. I watch as the dancers flow with the cheerful music of the stream, or is that the voice of the moon, rich with the fullness of her joy?
A Catbird, perhaps confused by the silver light, sings continuously somewhere through the woods. In the distance a Barred Owl calls twice, as if to welcome me to his world. All else is still. Too cool for insects, there is no chirping of cricket or flash of firefly, just the stillness that reigns when the sun is down and the moon shines her silver light over the world.
The dance ends as the moon slips behind the trees, leaving the picnic table before me in shadow. I lay my pen down, no longer able to see my page, and sit quietly, savoring the darkness that thrums with silent life. Then, my visit over, I head back inside to snuggle into warm covers and dream of silver light and birdsong.
(This painting is currently featured in my Etsy shop.)
