June 30, 2015
When I was a child, the idea that the moon above me was the same moon that hung across the globe was more than I could take in. I would sit on my bed in our house on Rosebrier and watch it behind the heavy drapes, so as not to be in trouble for staying up late. By that time in my life I had lost enough people that I looked for them somehow, behind the moon, or on it. Surely, I thought, it's bright enough and big enough that they can see it too. Surely they peered from heaven at this beautiful ball, as I did from earth. It was a comfort to me to think that maybe they were looking at it at the same time that I sat perched on my twin bed, hoping and praying that they missed me as much as I missed them. And maybe if they saw the moon, they saw me too.
It's a full moon tonight, and it's so bright that the zeeb (the old gazebo) is lit up by it. I'm in the moonlight, listening to the noises of summer, incredulous still that this light is not just mine. People I love far and away see it, too. Maybe even this very second.
"This is not only a full moon for me. This is an image of your face for me."
Our shared moon from the zeeb.
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