It just seems like we were supposed to see this moonrise. We settled on dinner reservations on the beach at 5:30pm, because that was all we could get. One of us wasn’t crazy about the idea of having dessert at the end of a lovely dinner out, but we stayed and had dessert anyway. One of us was a little reluctant to walk along the beach after dessert (after an afternoon of portraits on the beach), but we did anyway. And so there we were, walking along the beach together after dusk, my internal thought-life sounding something like, “I’m fuuuuulllll, I’m tiiiiirrrreeedddd, how much longeerrrrr.” I perked up a little when I saw that the restaurant’s exterior spotlights were casting some really beautiful light and shadow across the sand, and illuminating the surf with a yellow-green tint. I took some pictures and then remembered I was tired and full, and turned to gather my husband and head for the car. I grabbed his hand and took another look over the waves and happened to see what could have been a barge fire way out to sea. When I realized what it was I squealed something wordless (because I couldn’t think of any words at that moment), and pointed. We smiled at each other and watched as that moon came bounding up over the horizon in no time at all. A gorgeous and overwhelming thing to see, for sure. The last time I saw a moonrise so clearly (and so unexpectedly) I was with a dear friend at a retreat in Rhode Island. That’s not a memory I will soon forget either.
Thank you, moon. Thank you, bread pudding. Thank you, Seaglass for illuminating the beach. Thank you, honey, for encouraging me to talk that walk. And thank you, Nikon, for making cameras that perform beautifully in low light conditions.