Dazzled by the full moon's interpretation of daylight, Bosco watches in amazement and wonders why he's confined indoors. He is unaware of persistent hard frost and intermittent snow. The window has beckoned him during momentary cloudbreak - when moonlight drenches frozen landscape with stunning illumination.
The other two cats sleep, blissfully snoring, unaware of my chronic insomnia and heavy burden of thoughts. Thought is perpetuated by the silent midnight hours, inspired by momentary glimpses of moonglow.
The February full moon. Snow Moon, as it's called. I went outside, much earlier, as it was rising. The deep forest was shrouded in low fog, but the moon was brilliant and white just above the grasping reach of naked treetops.
As I absorbed the moon's beauty, coyotes howled very nearby. The announcement of their presence startled but didn't scare me. I've grown used to it. They have their territory, I have mine. We respect one another.
The hunters have no respect. The sharp, echoing sound of their rifles occurs quite often and still unnerves me to some extent. Tuesday afternoon was enhanced with showers of light snow. I went outside to watch the strikingly red cardinals. The sudden shots of the hunters was too close for comfort. The birds scattered. I hurried back indoors. I can only hope that the hunters have good eyesight and remain reasonably sober.
And me? I'm still existing in a mild state of confusion - - with too many things and nowhere to put them. The house is chaotic. The garage looks like an explosion at a junk yard. I have a stomach virus and a lethargic attitude. I've put a Hungarian pox on the entire process of moving. And my movers. My missing possessions, so far, have not been found.
But enough of annoying reality. These frozen, moon-drenched midnight hours are reserved for respite and rumors of dreams.
Bosco, in the mesmerizing custody of the moonlit window, fully realizes this.
