Shooting the moon

A few nights ago, I saw the moon, up close and personal, and it was magical.

I had just finished dinner at West Side Lounge in Cambridge and was high on the company of a dear friend and my daughters, with perhaps just a bit of help from a stiff martini and a glass of red wine. We were walking down Mass Ave, and the street was hoping with pedestrians as I said good-bye to my friend. After we hugged, I noticed the full moon and seconds later spied a man standing next to a huge camera balanced on a tripod aimed at the sky.

You know of course that I am a moon lover, right?

I stopped and asked him if he was filming the moon and he said yes, offering to let me take a look at what he saw. I looked through through the view finder and he said, no, look right here, and just as I looked at the digital screen, the moon slipped from view, behind the veil of a cloud and I sighed in disappointment. He said, don’t worry, wait, it will come right back. And it did. The moon was enormous and lovely, naked and bold, and I imagined she had answers to all the questions I haven’t even thought to ask. She was beautiful.

Moments come and moments go, and this one had a bit of magic in it for me and I thanked him and he was kind and then I was a few steps away, walking with my daughters who were slightly embarrassed at their mother’s talking to a complete stranger, but still I stopped, turned and said, “what’s your name?” He told me, and told me what news station he worked for and I thought, perhaps I have just made a new friend.

The moon, especially the full moons of fall, have been known to make me a bit delirious, and this was no exception, but I hold tightly to what I know, and I know magic. It doesn’t mean that others feel my sparkling sense of a cosmic universe shift; that’s not the point. The point is I feel it.

Magic for me is that moment when the air is ripe with possibility and we not only recognize it, but we reach out and grasp it, pulling it deep inside, unconcerned for what it means or where it will lead, knowing all along that sometimes magic exists for only a few seconds, and this is enough.

Like the seconds when the moon shyly slips behind the lacey wisp of a night cloud, only to brilliantly reappear seconds later and the experience is shared.

This entry was posted in The art of living, travel, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Shooting the moon

  1. Amruta says:

    You were in Boston? And I didn’t know. That has to be rectified next time. This, I have decided.

  2. admin says:

    Amruta! It was a crazy busy trip–we will absolutely rectify this on my next visit!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *