At Peace Alone Under The Super Moon

 Tonight, I took my dog for a walk down to the trail that's behind the park near my house. The trail cuts through a wetlands area that remains pretty much in tact. Pristine. Native. Untouched. It's exactly what someone traveling by covered wagon back in the 1800s would have seen and felt. Bumpy, unforgiving, but still beauty forged in Nebraska's harshness. 

To the east, Salt Creek winds slowly, trailing toward the Platte and then on to meet the Missouri. The Salt's steep banks rein the wetlands in at that direction. A line of houses, gifted with fantastic views of all this glory, border the wetlands in going the opposite direction. To the north snails Interstate 80 about a mile's walk away. To the south, a small tributary that feeds the Salt Creek forms the fourth barrier. Beyond it is the city. In the middle of all this snakes an oval loop about a half mile in length. 

Along this path, you can loom over the Salt's cliffs to look down. If you're lucky, geese will greet you in the water below. The trail will also put you among dying trees where deer have worn a path in and out among. Trees already dead. Trees waiting to die. You'll stand beside trees aged and snarled by winds running wild for centuries. You'll stand below trees stuffed with black birds who will mock you. You'll peer upon trees fallen and torn, now soggy in the creek's water, causing long, steady ripples.

That's the place my dog and I are headed. Off to see the moon. The soon-to-be Super Moon. Mother of all moons, the space experts tell us. We take the path to the middle of it all. And we stand there, prairie grass up to my belt. Crunchy. Brown. Wise with age. Just my dog and I staring at that moon. Huge. Bursting. Damn glorious. Crevices visible like an X-ray. Visible in a way humans don't get often with the naked eye. Commanding attention. Demanding thought. And so I do. 

I think about how humble she makes me feel. How small. I think about how limited my view is compared to hers. I think about how I feel inspired. And grateful. And I wonder if others somewhere else are also staring. Attention all in. Thinking. Wondering. 

Then I see something move. Maybe 35 or 40 yards to the southeast. A deer. Just walking. Oblivious to me and my dog. Desensitized by the civilian life that's constantly creeping closer. The homes. Storage spaces for rent. Schools. Gas stations. Businesses. My dog, otherwise perpetually nervous, twitchy, full of anxiety, is utterly still and quiet. He knows something is up. And then I reach for my camera. And I ruin everything. I upset it all. The deer knows we're there. We lock eyes. She's waits for me to jump. I wait for her to do the same. The only difference, she views me as a threat. So I don't move. And Slim, my dog, he's like a statue.

We stay that way. Minutes go by. Until the deer starts to walk. Not run. Not trot. Not even looking at us anymore. Just walking like before. And I go back to staring at the moon, but the significance of what just happened isn't lost on me. That two things that don't want anything from each other can just do their thing. Like stand in a field alone. Isolated. Sheltered from the nonsense going on outside this small space. The chaos. The constant barrage. The negativity smelling up the air. But not out here, under this moon. Out here, the air is fresh. It's better. It's right. Why can't it be the same out there, too?   

And I start to think how it is. I start to think about a friend. More like a brother really. A brother I might not agree with as much anymore about some important life issues, but a brother I identify with. Someone I've went through shit with. Someone who worked hard for what he has. We both did. We got what we got by doing quality work consistently. But he's a proud Trump supporter. I voted proudly for the other candidate. We're both passionate about what we believe. He texts. Asks to have lunch. To talk about these things. Like brothers. I realize, it can be this easy--sincere dialogue. You just have to ask for it. And I think, I'm lucky to have these friends who are like brothers.  

My dog and I start to walk back, stopping every so often to stare at the moon some more. I look at my phone to check the time. "5:55." Three of a kind. Good luck. So I make a wish. And as Slim and I reach the sidewalk near the street, my wife drives by, and I'm reminded of something she told me the previous day, something her cousin's wonderful girlfriend said about the two of us: "You two always seem so much in love." And I think, "What better compliment is there?" "How many people never get anywhere near this?" And the coincidence of her driving by just then isn't lost on me. 

And Slim and I keep tracking the moon all the way back to the circle where we live. To the house that's been our home for 15 years. The only home Slim has known. The place I raised my kids. Watched them grow. Watched two go out alone. The home we're moving away from in a few weeks. To a new home. To a new beginning in a familiar place. And my surroundings, this circle under this big, bloated, beautiful moon sitting low in the sky, aren't lost on me. This moon throwing off light. Commanding attention. Demanding thought. Which I do. Humbled at the possibilities.