The Moon Hits Your Eye

Every month, right around the 1st, I wake up between 2 and 3 in the morning, drag myself out of bed and ascend the oak-stained staircase C so thoughtfully built by hand. As I float to the kitchen window, I feel my arms begin to weigh and my stomach starts to flutter. Overlooking the backyard, I stand still; watching, waiting and staring. I survey the back deck and notice the moonlight reflecting off of the window seal. I close my eyes for only a moment so that I can concentrate on the silence. Sometimes I have to wait longer for the sounds of the ice-maker and furnace to wane, but soon, I find a center...a place I can call home, in the middle of my heart. And then I look up. No matter how many times I've done this (11 consecutive months now), the moon still mystifies me. My heart begins to race as I study the pewter gray crevasses outlined with darkened terrain; the accented light gray oceans of dust enveloping clouds of rock and craters. I begin to breath in deeper, so that I slow my heart just enough to hear the subtle beats inside my ears. And then I take the deepest breath I can and say out loud, "Hello Dad. Your moon is so sweet and soulful and it looks amazing tonight." Then, in the mist of the early morning hours, I wait for his reply.

I suppose I'll be waiting forever....

But I'll be there next month, and the month after that. I owe him at least that.