Friday Firesmith – The Moon, a Cat, and I Write for You

A large tree in the woods

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At six o’clock this morning I have a Pilates class and after, trying to figure out if we were going to work. There is some sort of debate as to if it was dry enough in the wet places, and all of this is tiring. The moon is nowhere visible in the sky, but I know tonight it will be bright enough to illuminate the woods, and the silver light will wash the world in ethereal thoughts. I yearn for the moon’s light, yet the day must evaporate first. 

A woman who lives near the project asks me if her yard will be restored to the condition it once was, for a truck pulled into her yard and left deep grooves. Fate is with me, for the contractor has planned to do just that, so it appears we responded to her, personally, and she beams with delight. She also gives me a bag of freshly cut mint.  

The day wears on, and I finally return home, managing the dogs who missed me, the cat who meows at me, and the writing who has been haloing my mind all day. A sprig of mint lies near, the fresh smell lifting my spirit. 

A simple day, random thoughts, the surprise of mint, the hours spent yearning for writing, and all the while, a constant stream of humans in plastic and metal boxes speed past. Are they going home to dogs, cats, and food? Is someone waiting for them? Will the busy woman who nearly runs off the road looking at her phone arrive home, take a shower, share alcohol with a man she desires, and in the moonlight flooding the land this night, will she become pregnant with her first child? 

This does happen every day, does it not? 

She won’t know it for at least a few weeks, maybe longer, and then count back to when it might have occurred, and someone who has no idea, will be the first she tells. The man who, like most men, concerns themselves with the act itself, and not the moon, and certainly not the consequences, will have egg beaters inside his mind for a while, weighing the fact of having a child, and seeing life as he’s known it evaporate before him one day at a time. 

This happens anyway, to all of us; our life dissipates every day, but in more subtle ways that the moon could teach us, were we cognizant. 

In due time, the sun retreats, slowly, draining light from the ground first, then the sky, and then Venus appears, leading stars into the sky. The moon advances, the tide of pale light reaching deeper and deeper into the woods, the fields, and finally, the window of my room. The cat in his tree is illuminated, and the dogs sleep peacefully, so only the silhouette of the cat and the writer, who is owned by the cat, see the night. 

Look up at the moon tonight. The light growing less now, the surface crescenting soon, the presence being diminished by the age old dance between the earth, the moon, and the soon, continuing same as it ever was. 

The moon, the cat, and I write to you about this. 

A tree with a heart shaped hole in it

Take Care,

Mike