The Abundance of the Harvest Moon

This is the full moon nearest the autumnal equinox.  The harvest moon.  The moon of abundance which would light the way for farmers at work harvesting their fields after the setting sun.  Wow.  Last night it rose shortly after the sun drifted beyond the horizon, all magenta and out of the deep blue.  My husband and I watched as this moon the color of a bright orange blaze rose and then settled high in the sky the palest yellow of a lemon soufflé.  We were dining atop a restaurant, literally on the roof, with entertaining friends from way up in Maine.  Our Mainer friends who drank a tangy cocktail made with peach schnapps called a water moccasin and retold their adventures in Africa.  For years I forgot about the outdoors.  I was busy getting degrees, working, making money, dealing with demons in my soul.  No time to howl at the moon.  It was really only after the pandemic and during my retirement that I came to remember my fierce need for nature.  Flowers, fireflies and hummingbirds that hover near my head feed me in ways that grow wide and beyond.  As a little kid I grew up in the woods.  I remember setting up a play house under the oak and maple trees, having tea parties with my friends.  Happily riding my bike around the cul-du-sac and exploring the neighborhood nearby until my dad would whistle to call me in for dinner.  My dad who grew roses and carrots and raspberries in our backyard.  My mother stayed in doors sipping her beer, rocking back and forth in her easy chair.  She'd watch soap operas on the TV whil flipping her way through the pages of Good Housekeeping magazine and crying in the rain.  All the while my dad and I would hike up Mount Rainier to take close-ups of the wildflowers in our path or those blooming in a field.  Later he'd play the harmonica around the warmth of a campfire where we'd toast s'amores.  My father was always a beacon of health, learning, wonder, taking his daily walks and studying the story of the universe.  Deeply gentle and kind.  Most of the time.  He was not a perfect man but he probably saved my life.  Sometimes I forget that.  My mother was chaotic, unpredictable, narcissistic, bi-polar, aggressive.  A soul-snatcher.  And mean.  Calming those reverberations in the center of my core has been the recovery of my life.  On the eve of her passing on the day of the Autumnal Equinox soon to come,  I raise a tart water moccasin to them both.  And smile at the abundance of the harvest moon.