Goodnight Moon
In a blog post I wrote in February titled, Transience, I spoke of construction that was beginning along the Chicago River and the sights that would soon be obscured by it. Well, that construction project has indeed taken off, and today it has reached a milestone that has me feeling…well, sad.
They are finishing the floor of the building that now is right at the horizon. Soon, even by this weekend, it will completely cover it.
This new building is covering up a sliver of our view that, in all honesty, is not that pleasant to view. It’s a lot of brown and gray concrete. But still, in the post from February, I mourned the loss of the reflection of the trees on that section of the river, trees that hooked my heart when otherwise all there was to see was concrete.
And now, we are at the horizon. I was sitting at our kitchen table at 5:20 this morning doing my Morning Pages, and happened to glance out the window to see the moon. Oh my goodness, it was so full and orange and so stunning; my writing slowed down to a crawl. And then it hit me….the moon was setting along the horizon that will soon be obscured by the new building.
We are supposed to have a full moon and a partial lunar eclipse in the late hours tonight into the early morning, which is supposed to bring in some emotional shifts. There is something about this section of the horizon being taken away from us that makes me feel deeply emotional- and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s the knowledge that there is beauty that we may no longer see. That up until now, with all that brown and gray concrete, we still got to witness when the gorgeous full moon slipped below the horizon and out of sight.
Why does this bother me so much? Nature cannot be held, we all learn this from an early age. We can observe fleeting moments. And the moon, and the sun, and the stars…they show us how much more there is out there than what is just in front of us. They remind us of our place in this universe; we are so small. Maybe that is why this feels like a loss to me. Brown and gray concrete, that is what we see, and yet this morning there was the moon, and it was stunning. But this time tomorrow morning, and the next time there is a full moon, we will only get to see it up until a point. It will eventually lower to the horizon, radiant and glowing, though I may not realize it.
Around the world rainbows reflect off of dew drops and the sound of rain patters through leaves onto forest floors. A mama bear bathes her cubs. A rose opens up to the sun. We can’t see this, yet I know that somewhere, it is happening. I hold this in my mind, tenderly, and use it to cover up the news that makes my heart ache, known and unknown- Nepal, Dolly, DR Congo, all those who will receive phone calls today that will change their lives forever.
And so we hold on to what we can. We trust the rainbows and rain drops, the mother’s care.
Goodnight stars, Goodnight air, Goodnight noises everywhere.
