Near bedtime, I cracked open the white patio French door to let my “Doodle” dog out. Loud plops of pouring raindrops had fallen on our roof top, scaring him. They came suddenly with a wallop that had only recently stopped. Bending down to soothe him, I scratched the fluffy beard of his face.
The wash from Heaven had ended. Stepping out to breathe in, it was as if everything was new again. Other senses take over for what the eyes cannot see. Wooded trees, flowers, and fresh damp earth. Slivers of wet grass sliding against ankles. Blooming bushes brushing bare knees. Senses I had not thought of before. Deep breaths. Deeper still. Silent sensations.
The storm had left a very black night. Outlines in patterns of ink were all that my eyes could see. Tips of trees reminded me of stencils to trace on cut-out paper, saving them in a treasured box for another day. Up above, behind swimming clouds was a moon with the brightest beacon of light. I could tell. Like stories read as a child, I truly saw “moon beams” last night.
Eventually, it was time to go in. Time for bed, time for my “Doodle” dog to shake his fluffy coat off of wet. When my hands opened the door to the inside, clouds in the skies above parted over my head. Rays of light caused me to turn back to the left. I looked up. Trees right in front of me could barely be seen. They were in the forefront. Quickly, I snapped this picture. I find it hauntingly beautiful. The loveliest photograph I’ve ever taken of the moon. Often, this is what happens when pictures turn out to be their very best. When one doesn’t plan for them. When they just happen.
Oh, and my “Doodle” dog? He scurried off into the house, where he hid under the covers to wait for me.