The silver, smiling moon is waxing its way to fullness and in the dim halo of its light, I can just make out the rest of its grey, round body. After several days of rain, with every creek in the valley sweating along its banks, the sun showed itself this afternoon like a child peeking her head out from behind clouds of bed sheets. From my gravel driveway I can see the Milky Way and am reminded of Kathryn Stripling Byer’s “Piece of Cake” poem (poet laureate of North Carolina), equating the sweet power of poetry with homemade Milky Way cake.
After yoga class, the noise of the world and the noise in my head often seem paradoxically muted and crisp at the same time. The ocean of thoughts in my mind calms down as my body relaxes, and I am not pulled by the undertow of life. Instead, I can hear cleanly and clearly, then decide without effort what to let my mind react to and what to simply let go of. Tonight I choose to be swayed by the sea of stars above my head, the happy moon, and the ease of snuggling down onto the futon with a cup of tea. It is nice, also, to have companionship, fresh and unsure as it still is.
Work begins again tomorrow and I am already excited to hold the tiny hands of my students as they step out of the parents’ cars and into the classroom. Because of snow days, our vacation was almost three weeks long. With the exception of one babysitting appointment, I have not had any little kid time since then. Before turning out the light tonight I’m setting the intention to carry this yoga-calm feeling with me for as long as I can into tomorrow. This way, maybe, just maybe, the sweetness of their crescent moon smiles will remind me to connect each breath, each act, with the entire universe.