It’s been a long time since I hiked past Mulkey Ridge to Fitton Green so I am determined to make it today despite not having slept well. For once it wasn’t stress that kept me up, but the moon. The silver light thought the open window turned my skin to silk while the rain wrapped my body in the warmth of its steady cadence. That solitude can overflow with such tenderness is a wonder I won’t sleep through so I watched the round moon through the window as the oak in the distance stood still in the same light and the curtains held the space in just the right grey.

On the way back I come to a low, split-log bench with no back and lay down, grateful to rest and admire the sky through the rugged winter branches. A little later I wake to the papery rattle of ferns right next to me. Above me the pendulous moss hanging in the evergreen bobs in the same breeze and its strangeness brings me into the magnitude of life in space. What a fortune to be on this one little bubble of air, water and minerals with a molten core and a tilted spin that holds us all fast on a pile of rocks, each one the just the right grey.

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