Down the road, up above the darkening horizon, a full harvest moon--timeless, unchanging--bathes the barren fields in soft pale light and shadows, as if peering down--so many memories it could tell--searching for what once was. And for a moment the moon is the same as it was and will be.

A white moon, small and cold, hung above the horizon on the way home from the hospital, noses, and faces pressed against cold glass, trying not to feel the pain--while engulfed in a rain of tears.

Another white moon above dark firs on a cloud strewn night, grey wisps hurrying for somewhere other than here, while the moon darts in and out--half-hidden--looking down on the homecoming of one prodigal son.

An indistinct moon hidden by the expanse of blue and the glaring sunlight which touches the wings, a plane homeward bound to an empty, unwelcome place--the one so loved no longer there.

A full, harvest moon looks down like an old friend on the subtle changes of autumn approaching, leaves ripening for their gentle descent, branches left bare in cold air. Tears well up. Breathing becomes difficult. The leaf leaves an imprint of itself on the memory of every tree that has lost its summer swath of green. The fragile imprint of one held so close is left etched on the heart and mind of everyone that has ever loved and lost.

A full harvest moon bathes the barren heart in soft golden light and gathering shadows, so many memories to tell, remembering what was and will be, up above the horizon, just down the road.

© 2022 by Grant Christensen. "Freely you have received, freely give." (Matthew 10:8b NIV) You are free to share--copy and redistribute in any medium or format--as long as you don't change the content and don't use commercially without permission of the author or author's family.