Hunters Moon

Slowly but surely, I am learning to love November. The eleventh month, filled with cold nights and stark landscapes, acts as a reality check to all who live in the northern regions of this country. Winter is just outside your door, and the knocking gets louder as every day passes. The wool and the fleece come out in all shapes and sizes, and the sneakers that got you through summer no longer seem able to deal with the wet and hard ground that you walk on. Now is the time for boots, and heavy wool socks to fill them. Yet, for all its blustery breezes and the rain soaked afternoons, November can show itself to be quite the beauty when it wants. The air is so clear and crisp, that the surrounding smells of the trees and the salt water from the ocean seem to command the air. The distant views out onto the bay are clearer than they were in July. On a hike up Bald Rock Mountain last Sunday, the summit revealed a striking panorama of ocean, islands, and rolling hills. I could see 26 miles out to Matinicus, and up the coast to the twin peaks of Mount Desert Island. The Penobscot Bay is stunning from the edge of the land, but when viewed from 1300 feet above, it is really something else! Then there was the November moon, the glorious, golden, regal moon. Oh where shall I begin! The way it lights up the night sky, providing a ghostly glow to all things. The way it illuminates a dark room full of windows or dances and shimmers on the ocean. To watch the full moon rise over Penobscot Bay on a cold and clear November evening is a sight that fills my soul with a sweet satisfaction and appreciation of the natural world and all her wonders. How can this golden circle appear so brilliantly over the blue water and rise so effortlessly into the pink sky of dusk? I am amazed every time. The rise of a full moon is a monthly appointment that I simply do not miss. The weather may interfere from time to time, but if all systems are go, and the clouds decide to take the night off, my night will always begin with this breathtaking show. I can't explain the pull of the moon on my soul. Call it spiritual, call it whimsical, or call it downright silly, I don't care. My eyes have seen few sights to rival a rising full moon, and I have seen many sights! Maybe it was my childhood. My parents reading Robert Mckloskey's "Time of Wonder," to me. The hurricane that so rudely interupts Sal and Jane's Island summer is swiftly followed by a full moon that watches over them and their island as they drift off to sleep. I always remember thinking how that moon was some sort of safety pin that held the world together. All else could be lost, but if that Full Moon rose in all her golden glory, the order of things would be restored and life would go on. My bedroom is surrounded by windows and skylights, and as I drift off to sleep most nights, the stars are the last thing I see before I shut my eyes. On the full Moon nights, when the wooden floors of my loft are all aglow and the moonlight shines on my walls, I feel as if I were on that very same island in "Time of Wonder," where everything was right with the world. Those who know me well, know my steadfast appreciation for nature and the wonders of the natural world. To be outside on a beautiful November day in the mid-coast of Maine, is to be surrounded by so much of natures beauty. The natural world envelops this place that I call home, and I am grateful for that.