March 3, 2016
A crescent shy of half, She still called, welcoming me to sit with Her in the chilly February morning, whilst She and the Stars still had command of the sky. I hadn’t sat with the Moon, in who knows how long, at least not in the Upstate NY sky, at the southern edge of the Adirondacks.
This morning’s visit was reminiscent of sitting on a rocky crag at the top of some Adirondack Mountain. It conjured up feelings stirred when accompanied by the early morning silence of a lean-to, pond side campsite, the campfire long gone cold. I could, for the moment in time, feel the Beaver swim in his day breaking stream fed pond, the Moose traipsing through the bog brush, the still, brisk cold of the frozen lake, dusted with drifted snow. I could all but hear the titter of the winter brown Beech leaves, stirred by the slightest breeze.
For the moment, I could feel my soul.
Peter J Quandt