Moonset

I saw my first ever moonset this morning.

After a short night and cruel alarm clock, I rose at 7am (I'm a bit of a pansy). I looked out my window in hopes of seeing flaming sky and pink-paintbrush clouds. Home always has the best sunrises.


The picture above came from several years ago on a summer morning. It's what I hoped to find this morning. No luck, though I should count myself blessed that I saw the mountain at all. Usually, the winter blizzard attempts to steal our window scenes in flurries of white.

I took a cold shower, not because I'm tough, immune to chill, or a she-man, but because the water pipes are partial to my mother who pursued a "clean and shiny" state at the same moment I did. Our water pipes abandoned me. If I were a water pipe, I'd probably do the same.
Two and a half minutes later, I dressed in all things fuzzy and warm, turned on the kettle, and looked across the valley. That's when the moonset caught my eye. Enormous, half-hidden, and "good morning" yellow, the moon was sinking itself to sleep.

Watching the moon set is quite a different experience than watching it rise. When rising, the moon is a strong laughing beacon against the blackdrop. When setting, not only is it on the wrong side of the mountains, but it's also a sleepy ivory yawn, sinking into sky feather-clouds.

Being home with family for the holiday, the demands of minimal packing forced me to leave my beautiful camera at home. Today, as I squeeze into my mom's boots and run into the 17 degree weather, I regret that choice immensely. Mom's tiny black hand-held camera has amazing skill in turning everything blurry. I resist throwing it into the snow and content myself with a memory picture.

The moon set in about four minutes--a treasure now buried in time. I hope someone else saw it. Before trudging inside, my eyes strayed to our hay-happy horses and a ball of obligation forms in my stomach. My little sister (the usual horse feeder) is practically crippled from pursuing Olympic figure skating and my mom (the back-up horse feeder) is in the shower (bitter...bitter...bitter). So I pretend, for a moment, that I'm a horse person and speak to them in a high-pitched baby voice as hay flies in my face. I lose the act rather quickly and jog back to the house. My now-frozen hair bounces against my skull, clicking together like beaded icicles. I enter the house to a screaming kettle.
Oops.
At least I know the water's hot.

With a steaming Vanilla Cappuccino in my hands and cream-cheese toast awaiting consummage, I let out a sigh and can't help but thank my Father for the beautiful and adventurous morning.