Corners can be difficult. They call for decisions. Do we stay on the path we are on? Do we turn back, uncertain of what happens when we go around the edge we cannot see? These are hard times that will probably seem easy one day down the road.
I hold the moon in a state of repose. The sun is far way. It is somewhat cold here, but times are going to get warmer. I hold the circle of light above my head, above a ring of earth. This is the place I became an adult, this is the place I grew to know.
The place where I learned the power of saying no, the authority of personal agency.
I travel into the darkness where my eyes cannot see. The wipers on the car do not seem to be working very well anymore. They work furiously to no avail. My hazard lights are on and I am slowing down to 35. I wonder how long it will take to get home.
I wonder also what is tucked inside those trees. Will it jump out in front of me? Will it be friendly? Should I introduce myself? Should I make the phone call, or wait for it to find me? Certainly not while I’m driving.
I’m more than a few miles from the county line, doing the old countdown in my head. How many more miles? Too many. How much more darkness? Enough to make me appreciate the moon, even when it lies down on treetops like it’s had a long hard day, and I know it’s only been hiding all day.