Super moon they call it, not as rare as we might think, happened three times In a row last year—for me, driving back tonight—it illuminated the sky Electric—almost like day light above my house—I thought of so many

Moons—sliver moon, fingernail moon, my mom used to say, blue moon, Blood moon red last August day—half moon, quarter moon, easy moon, Lazy moon, “Goodnight moon,” the book we often used to read our kids—

I thought of “Harold and the Purple Crayon” and how he drew a moon to Find his way home—I always found that idea comforting, that he could Draw a moon to help him see the way—I think of the Owl and the Pussycat

And how they rowed by the light of the moon—once they set out on their Honeymoon—and I think of songs we used to sing about how we see the Moon and the moon sees me—how the harvest moon used to rise orange

Above our apple orchard, how the valley clouds sometimes hide the moon, How the moon rises above Hatteras Island, the point at the end of the land, How I used to sit and nurse my babies by the light of the moon—how quiet

And sweet that time was—now the pull of the moon is bringing me home.