On a brisk night ten years ago when I was sitting on the beach at Nauset, wrapped tightly in motel blankets and my husband's arms, I don't think I could have ever dreamed that I would end up where I am now.
We had many nights just like the one I am referring to; many embraces under the stars near the ocean, the waves sometimes crashing, sometimes kissing the shore. On this night, the moon was full and hung against the black sky like a luminous plate on the wall of the diner where we would eat the next morning, smiling at each other across the formica table top.
On this night we sat huddled together craning our necks at the stars that spread out above us, waiting for one of them to shoot. Laughing, one of us would say they saw a streak of light and the other would ask where?...There...See? To the left of moon...See?
Sleep took us after awhile and when we stirred, chilled and damp, the moon was gone. I remember how we laughed then, thinking how absurd it was that in a few short hours we had misplaced an entire moon. But now I know that losing the moon is not only possible, it isn't all that hard to do. All you have to do is stop paying attention.
