The bed is wide and tall and feels like a ship these days. A featherbed topped ship. I can hear Ducky typing away in the living room, finishing up his work for the night. I came in here to read a bit before we finally go to sleep (it IS 8:45pm, after all) but once I was nestled in the fluff and blanket, sea foam green and a bit matted from all the years of use and washing, draped off of my knees and spreading out like a rolling hillside, I noticed the moon. It is that awkward shape that it gets between full and half full, always looking lopsided to me. There are wispy clouds moving along in front of it, more befitting last night-- hallow's eve-- than tonight - boring unspooky November 1st.
I'm tempted to turn off the little lamp that I read by so that I could
see the moon better but the glow in the room is so warm and my book is
waiting. And somehow, despite the tears this evening about a maternal
longing that pulls at my heart and fails to be met -- this life is the