moon phases

Last night I was sitting in the backyard, late, and I noticed a strange light falling across my rose bush. I stood and looked over the garden wall to see where it was coming from, and saw it was the moon, very big, hanging low over McKean Street, just beginning to wane.

I'm leaving a month from today, which is thirty-one days. This means I'll be traveling under a waning moon. It will be bright at first, and it will pass the half-moon mark while I'm still in the South. This is good. Better than leaving under a half-moon, leaving the sky dark by the time I hit the Great Smoky Mountains. My first hike-in night, alone in the woods without a car to hide in or people camping near enough to see, will be lit by a three-quarter moon. I'm camping on a stream that night, which means it's possible there won't be full tree coverage and I'll have some natural light to keep me company. If I'm really lucky, some of that moonlight will reflect off the water too.

That's the night I'm afraid of. That's the night that will determine what I've got holding on to me from the inside. I'm afraid of weather and wildlife, but more than that, I'm afraid of being afraid. But I know that it's not dislocating fear that makes a person brave; it's facing fear and living through it. I feel pretty confident. Afterall this is what I want. Time alone with no one to talk to, no one asking me to make a decision, or to account for myself. Just the night air, and the quiet. And if I can find that, and if I can enjoy it, everything else will be pie.