I have sometimes seen the moon rise high into the night sky, so sharp and so clear, that the air vibrates with brilliance like shards of crystal tinkling all around. And the ocean glitters like a shattered mirror.
But this May moon on Haida Gwaii was not like that. When I got up in the sleepy night and looked out from the upstairs window, there it was, this great full moon of the green spring, slung softly across the midnight sky. It was a misted night, and the face of the moon was all a shimmering, gauzy glow; this perfect orb of light reaching out across the dome of the dark sky illuminating the whole world in drifting shadows of silver patina.
The sea was calm, whispering, as the tide shushed its way high up the stony beach, and then turned, and wave, by receding wave, ebbed its long way back down the shore.
And after a while, in the stillness of night, I slipped back into sleep. And the moon sailed westward in its orbit of the earth, and the earth sailed on in its orbit of the sun.
And I wonder: in all the shoals and reefs of our existence when did we begin to dream, to imagine, to remember? Where did our journey begin so many billions of years ago, out there somewhere between the moon and all the stars of heaven?