The other night, after much tossing and turning, I gave in and got up out of bed. I wanted to see why things seemed so bright. There was so much light pouring in through the windows at the back of the house, I thought there must be someone working in the alley, a car idling with their brights on, something.
But, no. It was just the moon.
It’s hard to share just exactly how captivating that midnight moon was. In a half-tired state, I grabbed my camera for a mini-photo shoot to try to capture its beauty. This photo doesn’t do it justice.
A couple of things:
1. The moon will never look just like that again. Isn’t that a wonderful thing to consider?
2. Standing there in my pajamas and house shoes on my back deck, snapping away in the iciness of twenty degrees, snow on the ground and icicles overhead, I felt truly alive. This is the type of moment that reminds me I still have it. That old fire to discover, to experience, to create. Even when it isn’t easy or comfortable. Even when nothing to show comes of it.
That feeling. That’s the keepsake of that midnight oil.