Since the weather is full of alarm over two impending storms that will "make a mess of the northeast," I suspect that the rising moon I observed as the day was ending is the closest that I'll come to seeing the blue moon that is due tomorrow. Tonight's was a beauty.
It is not uncommon for me to be out at the end of the day, as the evening light layers into pastels behind the bare branches of trees bordering my yard (often because I want to get the goats fed before dark). It is a time of daily, quiet transition that always gives me pause. I'm looking forward to acquainting myself with the other end of the day.
I'm also looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow for the last time...
Here's a little poem about this project. I like the rhythm of the phrase, so it called for elaboration.
A Year of Getting Up to Meet the Day
A stagnant sense of stall was in my way.
I vainly searched for things to do and say.
The sight of hibernating trees,
the jolt of late December’s breeze,
gave brusque reply to inner pleas,
laid out a task to end ennuis:
a year of getting up to meet the day.