In Phase

 The darkness of the early morning upon first waking is a refuge into which thought trickle slowly at first, and fill up my mind like the gurgling of water poured into a glass. My attention turns to a rotating litany of topics--agendas, expectations, sadnesses, anxieties before I remind myself of the presence of God, and my mind soothes again. Perhaps someday the lag time will be zero.

Is it time for the Moon to come back? Not yet it is too soon. It is only a day past the New Moon. I laugh at myself thinking how now the lunar cycle draws my attention again, as it has at time in my past, and then disappears from my attention for long periods.

I push the button to start the kettle and stare out at the black featureless sky.  Is it my imagination that times in my life when I was aware of the Moon are much richer, more poetic? Perhaps so by I decide that it is true. Such is the power of the Moon, even a new one.