Our home sits on a piece of wooded land across the road from several thousand acres of wooded State parkland. The park surrounds the 3300+ acre lake on which our sailboat ‘Lifeline’ gives me my inspiration most of the time. It’s late tonight. The late news just finished. I haven’t paid much attention, though. I’ve been watching a light grow brighter in an otherwise black bay window.
The front of the house faces eastward and the trees in our front yard and the park cover the horizon. Like an ink picture, though, a few branches were illuminated from behind. I thought it just a reflection from the table lamp at first. No, can’t be that. It’s reflecting from the opposite side of the window, I’m just noticing now. Could it be the moon?
The boundary of the light is defined by the branches it is shining through. Fall has arrived by the relevant positions of the sun, the earth, and the moon. I only noticed because some red is showing up in the sugar maple leaves reflecting off the water on my drive over the lake, and the lack of them being framed by this rising light through my window.
It must be the moon. Half round on one side, waning parabola on the other, the branches now back-lit are thinner and more numerous. The light is less diffused. It is the moon taking its place, still ruling the night as God intended ‘in the beginning’. Tonight is calm in our front room, in our front yard. Darkness keeps me from knowing what tomorrow will bring, but I have the light meant to rule the night for company as a wait, and sleep, and then wake.