Moonshadow

"To the Moon" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth, 
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

When we announced we were pregnant (now termed "Crying Across America") I got many texts and messages from loved ones who were OVER THE MOON for me. It was uncanny. Dozens and dozens of OVER THE MOON patrons. I am, expectedly, over the moon myself. It is a stark contrast to where I used to be, my former abode being the subdued sub-shade of that floating rock.

The moon, the moon, the constant moon. I have been loved to the moon and back. I was stuck under the moon for a long stretch. And now I am over the moon.

I learned two things as an astronaut:

1. Happiness is its own reward. For those who are over the moon...you got what you wanted. Bask in lunar glare until your face is moonburned and your eyes are seeing spots. Exult in the ether, rejoice with rockets, commune with comets and somersault with satellites.

2. There is more than a man on the moon. Take heart if your personal parabola only orbited you to the dark side of the moon. You will soon realize the shadowed underbelly of obscurity and emptiness is where the angels tread. You will be cared for in the craters.

*Step one of converting the guest room to a nursery: cleaning out the debris from under the bed. I found this decorative moon that my Aunt Lynne painted on glitter paper for a harvest ball at church years ago. I loved it so much she sent it home with me. It's funny how things work in clusters for me. I'll be percolating about my proximities to colloquial moons, recalling a lonely moon in the poem Mr. Bancroft showcased in AP English, and then discover a paper moon under my bed.