Full Moon

     One night, in the early fall of 2008, I couldn't sleep. I had been tossing and turning in bed for quite some time and my own restlessness had finally compelled me to get out of bed. I was sharing this bed with my little (Big) sister Brittany. She does not fight fair in the war between bodies and space, blankets and sheets.  We had been enjoying our stay at my Aunt Jo's house; filling our minds with the enlightening wisdom of our Great Aunt Jo,  lifting our spirits with her particular brand of humor, and filling our stomach's with freshly baked banana bread, homemade chili, "surprise cake" and lots and lots of peanut butter cups from her secret candy drawer. We had fled the hurricane and were waiting it out in the safety of her comfortable home in Oklahoma (which is surprisingly close to Houston). Surrendering to my own unrest as well as to my Sister, I slipped on my shoes and tip toed my way to the back door as well as one could in a pair of old flip flops.
     As I opened the back door the air was warm and heavy on my skin, almost like a soft blanket, not too thick or thin. The night was still. I could see the pond in the distance through the trees. The shadows in the yard looked perfectly manicured even in the darkness. I felt instantly calm. The crickets were singing in a soft hum in the background. In the sky hung the most brilliantly understated full moon I had ever seen.
      I stared into its brightness, completely at ease with its soft glow. I felt small. The soft light from the moon fell across the entire yard like a silk chiffon veil falling over the face of a young bride, softening and purifying without distraction. I stood there staring into the sky and feeling small. I had been caught up in the weight of heavy matters, the heaviest that I had known. But, somehow, that night, under the full moon, I knew that there was a much bigger picture and that I was only one small stroke of the painting.
     Tonight I saw that same soft glow streaming through my small second story window as I was climbing down the stairs. I had just finished checking in on all of my babies, as I do each night, each sleeping body so peaceful and content. I walked to the front door, looked through the glass, and sure enough there she was, hung high in the sky just how she had been that night, and time stood still. I was taken right back to my Aunt Jo's back patio; the towering shadows, the warm air, the stillness, and a gentle reminder that I am but a small part of something great.