Met a fellow traveler on the road up to the house last evening. I suspect he was as delighted as me with the harvest moonrise and its generous splashes of red and orange hues in the sky and on the forest below.

October can give the weary traveler the hope of solace in reaping what’s been sown throughout the year. Its bloated moon floats effortlessly above the landscape like a luminescent balloon casting light and shadows that dance on the moribund earth. But it’s not as foreboding a sight as some might aver.

For the moon itself is not alight, its frozen surface reflects the hot light of a burning star. Its contours of desolate rock do something the sun could never. It becomes a luminary alighting a path through dark passages. The glow from a celestial lantern that assures us that even in our most desperate moments or alienation from the world and this distracted culture of disconnection that we really aren’t as alone as we may think.

It’s clear this universe cannot help but assert itself. To pulse with its existence. And its only longing is for every sentient to do the same.