The moon shone on the dirt road, illuminating the larger rocks and holes normally hidden in the dark. Running with the moon when it is fairly high as it makes its journey west to set, gives me company in the solitude of my run. My own shadow comes along, usually too lazy to head out the garage door with me.
The various weeds, stubble, and rabbits turn up as well to rise up to the light overhead. It isn’t the bright of warm sun in a blue sky, but rather more mellow and pale like those glow sticks you snap in half to light up.
Without snow to reflect its glory, moon light brings out lesser things in fields and pastures. It pauses to make the gravestones taller, reminding me to think of those long buried and gone, but who once lived and walked here too.
Sometimes my eyes wander while my brain is busy making lists for the day ahead or trying not to forget something just thought of—all of that jostles around until suddenly, I come back to gaze out of those blue eyes and wonder where I am. Did I already pass the cemetery? Did I cross road 22? Have I turned back toward home?
The light of the moon taps my shoulder, pointing to the glow of that half-mile post. Oh, that’s where I am. Centered again, my brain heads off again and that rabbit romps along the road beside me like a little moon-post guiding me back.