If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they’d immediately go out. ~ William Blake
Last night my heart was in pieces. I missed him, the stretch of him, the rascally, and all fourteen years of him. Lifting my pen, I stared outside into the navy blackness. At that moment, a slice of moon peeked up from behind a smoking cloud, beckoning me to the window. For a while she played hide’n seek before rising piece by piece from the ashes.
Every once in a while we get a glimpse, a sampling of a sure thing and hold on for dear life. I held on to my pen and the whole of the moon. In the spotlight of her majestic brilliance and, in the silence of my quiet rhythm, I sifted through the pieces of my life. I found peace among the pieces. Like a half baked moon in a Donegal sky, we can lose sight of our wholeness. It is all a question of trust.