When I walked outside late last night, after the rain, the moon was majestically beautiful. It was one of those nights where I am paralyzed, where I stand and stare, taking in each moon-beam and soaking it up into my soul. During the last full moon, I was retreating in the mountains. I slept under that full, solstice moon shining in through my windows as if the moon was bestowing a personal gift to my spiritual journey. And perhaps she was. Last night, I stood in awe for a while, then found a seat and indulgently soaked up the moonlight again. Bliss. I love these quiet hours of solitude when the rest of the world is asleep, and my spirit is awakened, wrapped in the comfort of moonlight.

Mary Oliver says it better than I can. I am posting her poem as a tribute to the moon, in gratitude for moonlight…

Luna
by Mary Oliver

In the early curtains
of the dusk
it flew,
a slow galloping

this way and that way
through the trees
and under the trees.
I live

in the open mindedness
of not knowing enough
about anything.
It was beautiful.

It was silent.
It didn’t even have a mouth.
But it wanted something,
it had a purpose

and a few precious hours
to find it,
and I suppose it did.
The next evening

it lay on the ground
like a broken leaf
and didn’t move,
which hurt my heart

which is another small thing
that doesn’t know much.
When this happened it was about
the middle of summer,

which also has its purposes
and only so many precious hours.
How quietly,
and not with any assignment from us,

or even a small hint
of understanding,
everything that needs to be done
is done.