When I was little, I watched the moon out of my window in the backseat of the car. It didn’t matter where we were going, or how long the ride was, I would watch and watch, always amazed that no matter where we were I could see her bright light. When the car got very loud and I thought nobody could hear me, I would sing to the moon. I didn’t sing words, only soft noises that to me sounded like what the moon would sing, if she had a voice I could hear. Falling in and out of sleep gently as each streetlight blurred into darkness once more as we passed, I would wonder where the moon went when I closed my eyes.
Even as I got older, and car rides late at night became less beautiful and more boring, the moon held its enchantment over me. When the full moon would illuminate the world, and cast dark shadows upon stark white snow I would shiver and curl deeply into my bed, awed by the power of her light.
And when she went to sleep and there was no moonlight at all I would be astounded by the fields of stars the I could see. I was equally grateful for her waning and for her waxing.
Now I am not old, except for in comparison to those days and I would be a stranger in many ways to my past self. Yet last night I saw hanging in the sky the slimmest crescent moon. She was suspended horizontally over buildings in an unfamiliar city as the blue light of twilight fell to true darkness, smiling at the world and at me. I took a deep breath, feeling at home suddenly.
And it occurred to me that no matter where I am going, I will always be following the moon.
I follow the moon wherever she leads,
but sometimes I think maybe the moon follows me
I dance and I skip, I laugh and I cry
But always I look at the moon in the sky
Wherever I wander, wherever I go
Whatever I do, I always know
that I’ll follow the moon wherever she beams
and sometimes I know that she’s all that I need.