Draughts of Eternity

As I write tonight, I am sitting beneath a Strawberry Moon. Blindingly bright, it rises over the low pasture, and up onto the ridge, her beams picking their way through the blueberry rows, bush by bush. I settle into a creaking Adirondack chair  – a gift given with memories to keep and memories to create – to make watch. If there is anything lovelier than the moon glancing through my birch tree, I don’t know it, I can’t remember it, I don’t need to find out.

Moments like this almost feel like eternity overflows; if we hold our souls up as if little cups, the Ancient One will lean across the heaven with the Dipper in his hand, and ladle out the most beautiful draughts of eternity.