Full Moon

Graced by splendor is how I feel when I see a full moon. Last nite's "Worm Moon" rose above the trees and I could see it for most of my drive home. A peek-a-boo show that had me smiling and feeling fortunate.

I like to know the names of the full moon tho I cannot remember many of them. The Perigee Moon, A Blue Moon, the Wolf Moon, the Worm Moon. Why be enamored of such a regular occurrence? Why is there so much romance in orbit around the moon? That cold orb lights up our shadowy landscapes and is blamed for lunacy and insomnia as well as praised for its role in romance. But what does it mean to me? Its a marker for memories, for song, and for female time.

Once I used a restroom in Mexico that had a big sun on the door. When I came out I was directed to the ladies' room - La Luna - the one with the small grey crescent moon painted on the door. The big gold sun belonged to the men. Who knew? Then I recalled the native American prayers to Grandfather Sun and Grandmother Moon.

I like the full moon because it calms me. I feel quieter inside and aware of my skin in a different way. I have been pleased by Harvest Moons above foothills, and shoreline moon rises, and full moon sets from the roof terrace in Oaxaca where I waited warmly for the dawn. Perhaps what I like most about Full Moon is it's silent secret. The sun marks each day, but the moon marks the months. It marches us toward our aging. It teaches the farmers rhythms for planting and lets tortoises born in sandy nests find their way toward the sea.

I'll be dancing in a Moonshadow remembering my youth someday, and all the songs with reference to Full Moon will feed me.