I See the Moon

Early on, when B and I lived across the country from one another, when neither of us knew what was ahead,  before iPhones and texts and emails--

Yes, before.

--the state of the moon was this connection, this link, that seemed significant at that time.

We talked on the phone most every night. Our phones had cords and were connected to the wall.  We'd converse for hours. My listening ear would get hot and sweaty, our necks would ache, fingers would cramp from clutching. Hold on, I have to switch ears. 


"Did you see the moon?"

"Ya,  I can see it from here."

"Me, too." Laughs. "From here."

Whenever I see the moon for the rest of my life, I shall think of those long calls and that falling in love.  I wonder how many billion people we share that in common with?

That's the thing about the moon.

There when you were born, there when your grandma died at 94 in the middle of the night and there all the nights of her life too, and there when you were a teenager crying, driving to nowhere in Dads car, wondering how to find yourself and get out of this damn town and there on the drive to Spring Break with your four college besties snoozing when it was your turn behind the wheel in Indiana and there watching over while you walked home alone at 4 am and there connecting back to this man who you'd marry and stargaze with from mountaintops and there on the drive to the hospital the night your water broke, and there in broad daylight fading away when your keen five year old spots it hiding.

Still there when you just need some fresh air at midnight amongst heated words over nothing, there to to be seen and watched, to help you pause and remind yourself of the love, not a to do not done or an opinion not appreciated.

Have you seen the moon tonight?  It isn't quite full, but it's beautiful.

Isn't it?


And goodnight to you, Moon.