I stood at the kitchen sink last night, or more accurately, this minutes-old morning, washing my hands with lemon-scented soap, when I happened to look at the thermometer right above the sink, next to the window. It said 90.6 degrees. Compared to the 106, 107, 108, we've been having during the day, it was cool. But for the middle of the night, it just seemed...so warm. I considered going to bed soon thereafter but felt the urge to go outside. So I went out to the backyard and sat on the swing.
I favor these warmer months; summer nights, my favorite. The cold deadness of winter always takes its toll on my mood. I knew that a few months from now, I'd look back on this night, and all of the others I've taken advantage of, glad I enjoyed them while I could.
I saw through the cluster of pine branches, a glowing eye peeking through. Though I love the Moon, I don't keep well acquainted with it. Each time we see each other, it's like meeting someone new. Always different in color and shape. Not completely full, there was an intense clarity to it last evening; a boldness I appreciate.
I rocked on the swing and listened to Night, hearing the sound of traffic in the distance. I took the moments in. Giving thanks for the warmth, for the temporary summer blanket wrapped around me, the heat held me in a hug.