Mother moon and sister woods

This morning before sunrise I am greeted by the sight of Mother moon, hanging above the twin bumps of two, old Appalachian mountains. Sometime during the night, the rain spent the last of its moisture and moved off, leaving the air crystalline and sharp, the sky clear.

Ah, that lovely old moon! She has seen it all, hasn’t she? She has seen those mountains rise and now she watches as they wither away, to eventually be rounded into hills and at some point, not even that. And still, I expect, she will watch.

I have often thought that the trees of the forest around me would have quite a tale to tell if they could. But that tale is nothing compared to what the moon could tell us of what she has seen. This morning, as on all mornings, she is silent and her light is blue and cold.