One night in Brooklyn, the Eldest, around 5, lay curled up on the bed ready to sleep. I was curled up with her. Suddenly, she pointed past the shadow of the fire escape.
“Look, Mama. It’s my favorite kind of moon.”
It was a perfect crescent. Lying there, holding her, fairly pregnant with the Youngest, I remember feeling beautifully content.
That moon is out tonight.
I saw on the way home from taking DP to the airport. I thought of calling him, because it was so beautiful. After a tough week, we have ended on a note of grace.
But I don’t like to phone while driving.
I didn’t leave a message.
But the moon is still out. It’s still beautiful. It shines on the Eldest, making her way in the world, on DP, many miles away, on me and the Youngest, snug in our cocoon that shelters us from the fierce Michigan cold. And of course, on people we love, people we’ll never know who dream, starve, fight, love, all that stuff.
I remember performing a Maggie speech from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, when she says, “The moon is out.” I had a wonderful coach, and she said, “Do you know why she says that?” And of course, I didn’t, and she said, “It’s romance. It’s tender. There’s nothing more tender than seeing the moon.”
The moon is out tonight, and it is beautiful.
I am thankful.