Moon Magic
It’s 3:35. Yes, in the morning. I often wake, regardless of the hour, brimming with ideas. Often, I curse the fact that my best thinking comes when it shouldn’t– in the car, in the shower, in the middle of the night. But, almost as often, I am stirred from my sleep, compelled to jot down a at least a few bits and pieces.
So, I’ve been sitting here, working on some posts, some poems, some new perspectives on my life. Being 3:38 in the morning and a work night, I was about to return to bed until I noticed the moon pouring through the “reading room” window onto my day bed. (Ironically, spilling right onto my journal and laptop.)
I had to lie in that light.
And, now, at 3:40, I am wondering should I sleep in it even at the risk of offending my husband.
There must be something magical to absorb.
Silas was born on the night of a harvest moon– a big giant beast of a thing blazing in the sky like a she-god. I am compelled to wonder what, if any, moon magic was instilled in him that night. Although, I tell myself that I don’t believe in moon magic. (But, then again, I am giddy with the thought of sleeping in it.)
Still, there was a time I believed in that magic wholly.
I was perhaps six, maybe seven, my bed pushed up against the western window. Living in the country, I had a clear view of the sky. I would take a deep breath and stare intently at the star that seemed most intense to me, most willing to grant my wishes.
I would wish the same wish every night– that I could transform into any being at chose, at any moment I chose, and shift back with the same ease in which I initially transformed. Sometimes, I would imagine myself a Pegasus, or a big fat tree, or a small, gentle creature like a rabbit or a mouse. Most often, however, I fantasized about inviting the class bullies behind the school at recess where I would shape-shift into a Tyrannosaurus Rex and deny that I knew anything about it when they went screaming to tell the teacher.
After wishing, I would climb down onto the floor and curl into a ball, my head nestled between my knees. “Make me a rabbit” I would say. Each time truly believing that it might actually happen and gravely disappointed when it didn’t.
I am realizing, now at 3:57, that Silas is quickly moving into that age in which magic really is possible. In which Santa Clause is real and wishing on a star doesn’t seem so silly. I am thrilled and enchanted and desperate that the wonder wear off on me.
I wonder if maybe I, too, was born under a harvest moon. If maybe I did ingest some of that magic. And, I am smiling, however mischievously, as I realize that I can share that with my son. That fierce tug of curiosity and imagination.
I could expound upon this– go on and on forever about forest creatures and tooth fairies, but I am sleepy at 4:04. And honestly I am anxious now to wrap myself in the throw that my grandmother knit for me and to enjoy whatever slumber I have left under the last rays of the silver moon.
Good night and good wishing…
February 15th, 2009 at 9:01 pm
well, i looked it up in the farmer’s almanac, and you were not born on the harvest moon. were you born in 77? or 78? i can’t remember. but either way, the full moon in sept. is always called the harvest moon, so there must be some magic there. either way, i think this was a beautiful post.
February 24th, 2009 at 10:34 am
Those are the kinds of stories that I miss you telling me as a kid before I fell to sleep…
March 1st, 2009 at 9:16 am
I miss that,too, Beeby.