I’m working on my patio by the light of a fuzzy moon and a neon laptop, and I hear signs of life swirling around my little apartment cocoon. They provide a sense of community and comfort on this mid-week April night. (A toddler puffs into a harmonica on the balcony across the way, and the far-off stream of I-5 traffic mingles with the overhead noises of coasting planes.) These familiar noises soothe.
I’ve been anything but light these recent weeks, and a return from Hawaii has (ironically) brought some levity. (And sure, the week’s sensational Seattle sunshine and feel-good vibes pulsating throughout the manic city’s streets haven’t hurt either.)
When the quiet finally comes after stretches of such clenched-up grasping, I feel grateful. Relieved. Clearer. Lighter.
It’s strange to think that that’s the same moon I ogled so recently through a high-elevation telescope way up on a Hawaiian volcano. It’s as peaceful to watch the evening breezes rustle these Northwest pines as it was the island palms.
For a moment, in this moment, it’s all tranquil. It’s all good. I’ll hold onto it while it’s here. Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, world.
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