…and how she got her name.
It was mid September. We’d spent the late afternoon in our chairs looking out over the valley and the vineyards that spread below. Harvest would come soon. We’d sampled the grapes on our vines earlier in the day, and the memory of their warmth and sweetness, combined with the earthy tannins in their seeds and skins, was still with us. The sun’s great warmth lingered in the air.
Just as the sun made its final dip behind the western hills, tinting the sky a deep coral pink, a big pearl of a moon rose in the east. Huge, as it lifted over the horizon, it cast a spell over this valley. We were caught up in it. Apart from the cattle softly lowing and our own hushed breath, there was utter silence.
Over months and into years, we came to learn the trail the moon would take, rising in the southeast, casting light and moon shadows over the whole valley floor, over the cows in their fields, over the geese in their ponds, over the vineyards, over the acres of oaks on these hills, and then over our own grateful eyes as she passed.
Through all her changes of form and through all the seasons of moon, we came to see her as contented. Gliding nightly through the skies, sure of her way, softly lighting the path for night travelers. And we imagined – and perhaps it is true – that all she touches is graced by some measure of contentment too.
May it be also true for you.