A Year of Morning Thanks

Harvest Moon

It's rise is hardly meteoric, but when it appears, it's huge. Last night, the dust from a thousand harvests kept it from being as orange as I'd hoped; instead, it was a pink balloon until it shook free of all our chaff. But there it was, shedding a light so bright you could pick corn or almost anything else in the reign it brought to the earth.

Sometimes I wonder if I too wouldn't have been prone to worship the sun and moon, if we had no other light. Last night I flew out into the country into a setting sun that was so bright it should have made driving illegal, but the moment that blinding glow fell beneath the horizon, a huge pink balloon appeared, almost like magic, all the way across the earth. What a show.

If it's all we had, I'm sure we'd make more of it--millions have.

It seems to me that I read somewhere that the Pawnees, whose home wasn't all that far from here, centered their lives on the movement of the celestial superstars--the sun, moon, and stars. Makes sense to me.

Me and my house don't worship that Lord, but as the harvest moon arose last night, its appearance was glorious--and very much a blessing, for which I'm thankful.