I watched this morning as the shadows from the trees grew darker from the brightness of the full moon. The new fallen snow reflected the light in stark contrast with the sapphire blue sky at 4:30 a.m., Eastern.
As I wrote my morning pages, a pleasant memory surfaced. I used to walk when the moon was full with my young daughters. Once on a camping trip at Cave Run Lake in Kentucky, I discovered a book in the visitor center that inspired me to do that very thing.
I don’t think we walked every full moon but we did it enough for it to be an adventure. Up past bedtime. Out in the woods illuminated by moonlight. The common becomes magical and mysterious. Anything is possible.
The daughters grew up and moved away and sometime during the transition from full house to empty nest, the book disappeared. Today I found a used copy of the out-of-print book from an online bookseller and ordered it.
What better time than at the full moon to renew an old practice?