Three years ago the cycles of the moon were far from the top of my mind. What, with streetlights, headlights, traffic lights, the lights at Wrigley, or even the lights shining out of my neighbor’s kitchen window, my bustling city was alive with color and light 24 hours a day.
Several days a week I went for morning runs, oftentimes up an hour before the sun made its lengthy climb to the top of the sky. And though the sun had yet to rise, I never concerned myself with anything more than the reflectors on my shoes and running vests, as I knew that the headlights on the cabs whizzing down the darkened street would make me glow, announcing my presence to their drivers.
Up here in the High Country, where power outages are bi-monthly occurrences and streetlights are nearly unheard-of, the cycles of the moon play an integral part in our daily lives.
On evenings where the New Moon is nestled deep in the night sky, it is as though the moon has extinguished all that is left of the shadows of the day. It buries the Earth’s surface in a blanket of darkness so thick it feels as though you are swimming through an ocean of black, unable to see but a few feet in front of you, feeling your way down the street lead only by your sense of touch and your sense of smell. On nights like this, the stars are on full display, drawing your gaze upwards to witness them dance and twinkle their way across the indigo sky, a trail of star-dust left in their wake.
The darkness of the New Moon is followed by the light of the Full. Where the New Moon extinguishes the shadows left by the day, the Full Moon creates shadows of its own, reflecting on and bouncing off of anything that intercepts its rays. The Full Moon enshrouds the mighty peaks in a glowing cape of yellow light, reflecting off of the snow and illuminating the clouds. On nights like these, I lay in bed and bathe in the soft glow of the moon settling in above my window; letting it wrap me in a gentle embrace, caressing and soothing as I am lulled to sleep.
It seemed darker than usual this morning when the tinny song of my shrill alarm announced the start of the day. Even Mayhem hadn’t stirred from her cozy slumber, tucked into her kennel among layers of fleece and down.
I lugged myself out of bed and roused May while layering up, anticipating the frigid temperatures that punctuate Fall mornings in the High Country. We had yet to wake up to snow, but most mornings we found that our windshields had been decorated by a diligent Jack Frost, dancing his way over the cold, hard glass.
As we made our way downstairs, I glanced out the window and noticed fat, white flakes drifting down from the heavens, settling nicely into the crevices between the pine needles of the Lodgepoles that line our yard. Layering our deck in what looked like inches of cold, soft, cotton fluff.
It’s funny, how quiet the world gets when it snows.
It’s as if every breeze, every bit of trickling water, all of the traffic noises, and life’s silly little worries hush and settle in under thick blankets to watch the flakes fall, creating contrasts between warm and cold and black and white.
I take pride in knowing myself and in being confident with my wants, needs, passions, and desires.
I truly enjoy spending time with myself, soaking in the beauty of the ups and downs of everyday life, reveling in the love and support that I am so lucky to count on.
But recently, I have come to realize that I am afraid, ok terrified, of being single.
The majority of my adult life has been spent in the company of two longterm boyfriends and a handful of suitors who seem to swoop in right as I let go of my most recent significant other. It’s been fun and I have been fortunate to have met and gotten to know some really incredible people, but it’s also been safe.
I know who I am in a relationship but I can honestly say, I have no idea who I am as a single 29-year-old woman.
Since Mr. A and I split up in June, I have buried myself in my work (thank goodness for promotions!) and focused on busying myself and Miss Mayhem with trips, hikes, swims, car rides, and finding new crushes to focus on while I healed and tried to find some balance in the chaos. Throughout the last four months, I am pretty sure that “OH SHIT” was written across my forehead more often than not, my eyes open wide in fear and my energy a bit erratic.
All I can say, is thank goodness for VBGFs who help you come to realize that you’re being a bit crazy, that being single is an amazing learning opportunity and THANK GOODNESS for crushes who do not return your affections :).
The Inn has been closed for fall cleaning and Mayhem has been onsite reigning over her favorite hotel from her favorite throne.
Similar to her owner, Mayhem talks A LOT. Not necessarily barking, but something closer to a wookie noise.
It’s a low, guttural groan that starts deep in her belly before belting out at varying frequencies for the world to hear.
We call it her singing voice.