Come sit with me
beneath the moon,
when you feel lost
and hopeless—
like there is no light.
She’s learned how to shine
through all-consuming dark.
Inky, unforgiving.
No light of her own,
yet she gives enough
to make the shadows
yield in their mission.
Talk to the moon with me,
while the wind caresses your face.
Call the moon by her name.
Ask her about balance—
the never-ending dance:
how much to give,
how much to keep.
She never apologizes
for waxing,
for waning,
or even disappearing
completely from the night sky.
Yet still, the tides rise,
and the wolves
never stop howling.
Never questioning her power
In her absence.
Let the wind carry your words
Whisper her name,
Luna.
Then ask her questions with me.
No one else is more likely
to hold answers for hearts like ours.
She’s fought more battles than we can count,
yet look at her tonight—
scarred,
and utterly stunning.
And perhaps,
if you can find the silence
on just the right kind of night—
where her scars glow the brightest
And the wind is humming soft through the trees—
the moon and the breeze
might conspire,
and bring you something
your heart desires.
The lessons of the moon,
carried in whispers on the wind:
how to stay soft,
and just a little magical,
in this savage,
yet ordinary life.
