In the thing light of December I walk my dogs up the ridge behind my house, like I have thousands of times. The afternoon had turned so quick, from sunlight to shadow, so that when I looked up from my work, I realized we must go now if we were to go at all. And so we did.
I was not expecting the Moon, but there she was, as we made our way back down. The dogs care nothing for the vision of the sky, so they were a little impatient with my moon gazing. It is a shame they cannot smell the Moon!
This path is part of my spirit; I am woven to it in peculiar ways, and still this ridge surprises me with its gifts. And on this surprise visit from the Moon, which I almost missed, I was gifted with the visceral sense of being woven into the forest. As if, at last, she had taken me in as her own.
