I admit it: I’m hopelessly besotted with the moon. The moon, in all its phases, makes me feel safe and secure and loved and a little bit sexy and wild, but most importantly, it makes me feel like I belong where ever I am that the moonbeams are falling. Of course, that is all times a gazillion when that baby is full and staring down at me from on high like a lover about to swoop in for the swoon.

And, to wax even more silly, I’ll go on record that I wish I had a man who loved me like the moon: constant, strong, brilliant, soothing, romantic, not always visible, benevolent, and just a little lunatic. I’d like to think I’d love him back in return, but the moon, the real moon, would give even such a great guy a solid run for his money.

Tonight’s moon, known as the Wolf Moon is going to be spectacular. It’s supposed to appear the biggest, most full and luscious that it ever will be again in 2009. Experts say it will wow even the un-wowable. That means someone like me will basically be in nirvana. I read that one of the best times for viewing will be shortly after sunset, which seems a bit odd, but I’ll be out there!

I’m going to HORRIBLY embarrass myself by posting the first poem I ever wrote about the moon (forgive me — I was pretty young!). The poem speaks (in all the drama of a young heart yearning for love) about how I’m pretty sure the moon will be my only one and true knight. Funny, huh, how you can predict your future without even knowing it.

The Knight

What nightsound draws me to the window now —
one moonlit sigh could ease my brow;

Will trying night call serene —
undo his fetter, revive my dream?

To hear again, I hold my breath;
but night is silent and still, as death.

Pulling back to lay repose; Epicurean lost
in this solitary bed I chose;

Discordant beat til morning’s start
impassive night won’t quiet my heart.