Lunar Oscillations

 Woke up at a normal time this morning (half past four). Lying in bed in the dark I focus on the overlapping sounds. Sometimes I think I hear rain outside, but of course it almost never is rain. The heat has come on during the night, and sound of it rushing through the vents is novel. Outside the noise of the heavy equipment raking and grooming the undeveloped desert carries from half a mile away in low rumbles that become more clear and identifiable as I focus on them. Much of the construction here is done at night like this.

Not wanting to let this precious pre-dawn serenity slip back into sleep, I force myself to rise and to go out to the kitchen in the to make coffee. To my surprise, the room is lit by the floodlight of the moon through the open blinds. 

Standing at the counter, I poke the button on the electric kettle and it comes to life with the blue led lights of its panel of buttons. I wait a few seconds until I hear the water begin to simmer.

As the simmering proceeds, I stand at the kitchen sink looking out the window to the west. I set up the paper filter in the Chemex to ready it for the pour of the water which is heating. I crane my neck to see the moon. It is apparently full or near full. Without my contacts in, I squint to see its shape.

Then as the simmering of the kettle proceeds and grows as I stare out to the west. In the far distance are the recognizable lights of the Mayo Clinic and other mid-rise buildings along the freeway.  A few cars pass along Pima Road coming too and from the interchange of the 101 Freeway.  In a few hours it will be a busy with commuters but at this moment the traffic is sporadic.

With the moon casting shadows around the sink around me, my mind is carried far way to things far beyond the little circle of my life, to people and places far away. It is as if my thoughts are going up to the moon itself and then bouncing off it, to come back to various places around the earth. 

Then my dispersed thoughts are broken by the beeping of the kettle, which has reached its rolling boil.  My concentration is yanked back, somewhat awkwardly, to the kitchen sink. Almost by rote, I lift the kettle from its holder and pour the hot water into the paper filter, following the official instructions as always, to preheat the flask with a clean pour that seals the paper filter against the glass. The immediate tactile experience of my hands in the dark feels like the opposite of the bodiless lunar reverie I was in only a few minutes before.