Harvest Moon

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This one began yesterday morning as another reaction to Wednesday’s blizzard. I wanted a sun that came up from the sea ready to UV my brain stem boiled lobster red. At 10:00 a.m. I had it with winter, staring out my window at the gray, white, black, brown stained ugh-blah of dormancy. Yellow. Slap! Schlop! Lots of it. Red, a gob-a-bob. Some pathetic bird, and then pop! Harvest Moon at noon. Like a door thrown open in my brain, and a push from behind into a room called “What Matters”. A bed made up for my hibernating sweetheart and me. A safe home for the children. Dandelions and lavender bees. My little girls chasing rabbits and squirrels. Another trip around the sun. So in love and luck with my lifelong friend. Close the door. Real spring is a month away. Take the time for wine and rest and memory. Let the gray heartache feed off the final slab of November fat. Think on the moon of October, when you welcomed winter with warm love, not the fighting cock reaction of a man pinned down by a desperate March.

The secret of happiness? Time to think like Neil Young did back in 1993. A made up musical poem of five minutes that can teach more about love, longing, and tenderness than all the libraries of the Internet universe ever will. Brand that learning onto your cranium wall, and then move on to the next subject…

Getting our butts down to Florida for an ocean breeze walk next winter, no matter what the cost.


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