What is it about the full moon? To view its ghostly shimmer is to feel at once intrinsically romantic. I remember courtship during a full moon. A time when I sat on a park swing being rocked by the movement of both Earth and wind, flung forward by the force of the arms that would grow old in my embrace. I remember the cool crisp breeze stinging my face and blinding my eyes and the soft feel of the sweater wrapping me in a blanket of warmth. Nervously waiting to receive that first kiss, only to find the remainder of my life at the other end. Converting to memory the night through the use of all senses. The smell of the damp grass, and by the night sky. The type of night sky where the blue of distant mountains stands a deep Navy against a cornflower blue sky and the only thing separating them is the orange hue of the disenfranchised sun that outlines the jagged cliffs in Autumn glory. Corn Fields play the melody of the breeze at it wafts churling and curling my long hair into a frenzy about my face. OH how I love Autumn. I would encircle this period of harvest before silence in golden ribbons of endless embraces and never ending applause. It is the pinnacle of natures performance, and the splendor of her works definition is that of abundance. If only life were an endless period of harvest. If only the fruits of labors past sown would spring forth into the giant gourds and cabbages of harvest time, never to find a lack of reward for labors so dearly invested and so earnestly and anxiously repeated. If every kind action received in turn a kind reciprocity, which leaving its own marks of infinite and unstoppable movement, would,could seep into the consciousness of every continent and people. We could live in a perpetual reaping, a perpetual Autumn, finding our place and contentment everywhere we trod the damp soil of Earths magnificent splendor.
