moonlight in vermont

i went out last night with the dogs (my two and one extra that i’m watching while her family is away for the holidays).

our early winter is suspiciously warm (thanks, el nino!), so i didn’t have to hurry back inside to thaw out. instead i walked out into the yard and surveyed the kingdom. the nearly-full moon was partially obscured by the clouds in the big, velvet dome of the sky, pierced by reaching black tree branches. half of the sky was diffuse moonlight and half was starlight and it was sublime, silent and thundering.

i stood, drinking it in, until my neck started to complain about the right angle it was cocked at and the dogs began to mill around my legs, then sighed and went inside.

like most people, i realize that i don’t spend enough time smelling roses. i get through each day, one step at a time, and often forget to look beyond the path my feet are on. and then, all of a sudden, i remember to fling my head back and let the stars shine on my face and everything is fine.