Sunset on Lake Whatcom
We walk to shoreline, looking down the lake toward Bellingham as the sun glows a soft apricot on water. Turning toward the spit, we walk hand in hand as the air chills. We pause toward the end, not wanting to intrude on a couple fishing. I stare into the deep clear water, our drinking water, too cold for a swim.
As we walk back, Michael points out a bench facing Stewart Mountain. It is a new bench inscribed in memory of a couple. We sit close. I gather his warmth through my heavy jacket, hold his hand as he puts it in the pocket of the yellow fleece jacket I gave him years ago. Still I'm cold waiting for moonrise. I stretch my legs across his. He is always warmer than I am.
Blue heron waits for blue moon
We watch the stillness of a blue heron practicing gigong as she waits for the blue moon. She dives only once, flies flat just above the water line and returns for her vigil. We wait. I miscalculated the time of moonrise, forgetting to allow for the sight restrictions of the mountain across the lake, our favorite sky viewing spot.
We talk. We listen. We remember other full moons. Seagulls squawk their impatience. We are both cold now, cuddled up on that bench waiting. Perhaps we are both just about to say "let's go home and have dinner."
"Look!" I point and catch my breath with the intensity of the spotlight floating on the mountain ridge. She rises quickly like a million wings lifting her. A small glimmer of white water her first reflection. Ducks circle in the growing water light. Bats careen between us and the moon. The silver light opens, a swath across the lake, touching us. No one between us and the moon but her watery reflection and lake animals.
We bathe in blue moonlight for time without timing. He is mesmerized by her sudden appearance and marvels as we walk back to the car. No, he doesn't make gender references. I do for surely the divine feminine is alive and well and linking me to the Universe tonight.
Photo credit: C.J. Prince
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