Moon gazing

This week the moon shone brighter than I ever remember, low clouds dipped and drifted in front of the silver roads beneath. We were weaving through trees late at night from dinner at Francos. It wasn't until later that I heard the phenomenon that night, the super moon, only happens every eighteen years. Eighteen years... Next time it comes around I'll be forty, turning forty-one. I didn't stop to think how terrifying that is, or how much will pass in that time; children, schools, new towns, new homes, two decades of memories. I was transfixed by the idea that I might somehow forget that very moment when I saw the moon and I took my breath away. I wondered if, after those two decades pass, I would hear the return of the super moon in passing on the news or the radio and I would suddenly remember those few precious moments driving home.

September was a month of incredible sunsets. Every morning drenched in bright yellow light and the evenings a red firey glow.


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