This weekend was the harvest moon. It was so incredible to see as it rose large and glowing. It shone brightly on the water, illuminating the ripples that flowed past the boat.
The sun had just gone down and there was the full moon rising following on its heels. The harvest moon got its name because it was said to help farmers working to bring in their crops. They could continue to work on harvesting their crops by moonlight even after the sun had set.
It's evidently an illusion that the moon appears larger around the autumnal equinox. I don't want to think about the illusions. I don't want to be a grown man who understands astronomy. Instead, I want to believe that I could reach out and catch a moon beam.
I thought of driving back from Tennessee years ago with my old Labrador. He had been to a hunt that day and been the pick up dog. He had enjoyed the water, retrieved many a bird, and was snoring gently as I watched the harvest moon loom up from behind a mountain on its celestial ladder. It was such a moment of peace tinged with a dash of longing. The old dog is long gone. But I knew that he too felt the pull of the harvest moon even as he slept.
I think each of us at times has a similar inexpressible and poignant moment that comes not from logic or reason, but from a place inside where wonder and mystery dwell.
"I want to see you dance again
Because I’m still in love with you
On this harvest moon"- Neil Young