On Monday, I broke my favorite mug (see pic above); the one I use every day; the one I purchased from a local clay artist over the summer and carted home in the saddlebag of my motorcycle. On Tuesday, I managed to break my 2nd favorite mug.
I was on a roll.
On Wednesday, I stopped into three different small town thrift shops on my way to visit a friend up north on the Flathead Lake and purchased a mug with a dancing Snoopy on one side and the words: Life is too short not to live it up a little on the other side for .50 cents and balance was restored to my early morning tea-drinking routine.
On my two-hour drive back home on Wednesday night, the almost full moon accompanied me off and on; over the lake and up over the Mission Mountains; appearing and disappearing through the clouds; the ribbon of asphalt carrying me shifting in its dance of light and shadow; a soft telling of my place in the humming buzzing world of things.
At 5:30am this morning, full moon singing like a flood light in the sky, I sat facing west, bare feet resting on a wooden sill, so I could sit in witness, alighted in its trance. A great luxury to be sure.
At 5:42, a bank of clouds swallowed it down in one gulp. If I hadn’t been sitting front row center, I never would’ve seen how gracefully the moon was overtaken; how effortlessly it turned itself over and allowed itself to be absorbed.
Who needs to read or write poetry when there is a full moon singing top voice outside, penning its own love affair with the sky?
Ryōkan said “the old pines are full of poems” which makes me smile and think: perhaps it was the moon that taught them everything they know.
Had I risen at 6am, I would’ve missed the show: how the full moon held court in the sky with a royal declare; how it shone in regal accord with the silhouette of winter tree boughs; how it danced in interplay with the misty clouds; how it brought my heart to swoon and crack itself wide open.