September 9, 2014. Morning of the setting of the Super Moon. I snuck out of bed (after a wakeful night of baby teething and quiet struggle) to find myself on a calm, lakefront deck with nothing between me and eternity except for two maple trees.
Barefooted, I sped down the second story steps and over the lawn to pad down the length of the aluminum dock where this breathtaking moment was waiting for me. I stayed breathing in moon dust for as long as I could before my sweet, wakeful baby found out I wasn’t with him. When I came out again, the moon was hidden by clouds and the sky brightened by the sun and birds and people milling about inside the cottage.
Ironically, I think it was the brightness of the moon that kept #hooplebaby (look him up on Instagram!) from sleeping. (My favorite room in my parents’ cottage is the attic loft with a wall of curtain-less picture windows that looks out on the lake.) Without the ridiculously bright night, we both would have slept deeply. We would have slept in. I would have missed the moonset.
Beauty and struggle. You will not find one without the other.
9.9.14 I was on a dock over the calm waters of Conneaut Lake, Pennsylvania. Home visiting my family.
Where were you? (Let us know in the comments!!)