When the moon here is full and the air is crisp and not full of clouds, it is bright enough for me to wander.
It is bright enough to walk out barefoot at two or three in the morning without my usual flash light or headlamp. (There are, afterall, deer and rabbits and the occasional coyote to think of if I go out with the dog in the night. )
And on these full moon nights, we could, if we wanted, drive without headlights. (Yes, we might have tried that once or twice.) It’s just that bright. The landscape is soft. Oh, and in the winter, when the snow reflects that light? Even brighter, even better.
And when we are at the cabin on the beach, there’s hardly a better show to be had anywhere.
The moon draws us down, and we watch the path, the ribbon of light, the pool of opalescent silver that gathers just beyond us on the water. It’s hard to chit chat at such times.
If the water is warm and the surface smooth, we can be persuaded to swim, and that silver water feels not like water but like milk, like something thick.
A full moon anywhere gives reason for pause, but here, away from city lights where the contrast between moonlit nights and non-moonlit nights is substantial, I do more than pause.
I celebrate, admire, and praise.