Under this morning moon

Walking home on New Years morning in -21 C with a southeast wind gusting to 39 km/h has its perks. Perk, rather. Singular.

I paused several times on my 2.3 kilometer walk to look at the moon despite the -32 C windchill.

A young woman at the vivacious house party I attended last night remarked that what you do on NYE defines the upcoming year. Ten per cent of me wishes that to be true.

Walking under a full moon on a clear night followed by being surrounded by delicious food and boozy friends and strangers enjoying themselves has a certain appeal.

Waking up in a friend's bed pantless wearing his shirt while he was with his family on the other side of the country does not.

Top that off with the realization that the trio of water glasses I futilely set down beside my single occupant bed were now only a usable duo thanks to my aggressive water consumption.

Since I sleep poorly after a night of excessive adult beverages, I left early. Early enough to watch the moon set.

I am unusually mindful of the moon's celestial journey and on New Years morning as I plodded home mildly hungover and bundled in my snowpants and scarves, it served to remind me of what my year will be.

I will frequently pause and take time to enjoy Creation as I travel to Bimini Island, counsel conifers to free growing status in northern B.C. and journey through Canada with some girlfriends.

Clock Chain

My wristwatch is half a handcuff and constant reminder that I am actually, physically tied to the clock.

Constantly concerned about punctuality, I believe I might explode without it. When classmates are late for class, I disapprovingly glance at it. When I almost always arrive at an engagement before the arranged time, I smugly nod to it for its time-keeping abilities. Or on the off chance I'm running late, I shake it to will it to slow down.

Regardless of the faces I give to my watch, it reminds me I am always in time, if not on time. Not in the musical sense of in time, even though the second hand is kind of like a metronome for our lives. The minute and even hour hands could be metronomes. Would beats of minutes or hours composed of minutes be a more suitable backdrop for life's rhythms?

These created units reflect on the existing time Creation keeps without and independent of us. A moonrise's quiet and overlooked beauty reminds me of this.