I went to the beach with my sister and my daughter on the night of the recent blue moon. As writers are wont to do, I could not resist writing a bit about the experience. This was written on my iphone (efficient!) with just a bit of editing afterward. Enjoy. 🙂
The swollen moon rises over the shoreline. The sun is still falling behind the trees, and it is just barely dusk. People are starting to abandon the beach but we stake our claim in the sand. My daughter makes slow, lazy circles in the sand by her feet with a stick. She talks of rocks and seaweed and swimming. I only marvel at the stunning orange orb above the sea.
I have always favored the soft, subtle glow of the moon over the aggressive heat of the sun. I have said that my delicate Irish skin cannot handle the sunlight, and my pattern of freckles prove the point. But the truth is that I have always preferred the night. The moon has always pulled me in with its magic and mystery. I am a textbook night owl-I typically fall into bed only when my eyes can no longer stay open and my body longs for sleep. I cherish the time late at night when everyone else is dreaming and I can enjoy the night alone-just me and the moon.
I named my daughter Rhiannon, in part because one of the meanings of her name is “moon goddess.” Like me, she is drawn to the nighttime. At the young age of nine, she frequently battles insomnia and spends many nights in my bedroom. I draw my breath in now as I see her frolicking in the water, the moon shining in her hair. It is the last gasp of summer, the final weekend of August. She is already back in school, but we can still cherish these moments. The sand between our toes, the lullaby of waves crashing on the shore, and the caress of our beloved moon upon the earth.