At first, she thought someone was shining a flashlight in the window. Turns out it was the moon. Though it was 3 a.m. she shook me awake believing the view across the water was too spectacular not to share.
She was right.
We embraced and watched in the silence commanded by the scene, and though it was warm from where we stood, we shivered involuntarily against what we knew beyond the window was very cold.
And right then we made plans.
The next morning at 5 a.m. in the very early darkness, armed with a thermos of coffee, blankets, ‘toboggans’ as she calls them, and mittens we watched the crew launch their so very narrow craft on a lake so flat – and so cold – that ice was a reasonable expectation instead of the dark water that mirrored the cloudless sky.
Except for the moon.
The beautiful orb above, the denizen of the darkness, the ruler of the star-studded sky, shone a shimmering path toward the distant shore and the rowers obliged, drawn irresistibly to the spell cast across the water.
It was 22 degrees.
A flock of geese flying wherever it is they go, drew our attention heavenward as if they were announcing the soon grand appearance of some mighty personage.
And so, they were.
Ever so slowly the moon gave way to the herald of the dawn, the sun peeking above the horizon, casting its own path across the water, showing a new way, creating another day, greeting onlookers with a most beautiful means to say ‘Good Morning!’
And to give yet another reason to be so in love with life.
Moonlight on water is too sublime not to share with someone. Even if you have to wake them at 3 am. Lovely story.