On Saturday morning–after a week of running from one thing to the next, rushing, rushing, rushing—I came downstairs and looked out the dining room window and saw the moon (an elegant waning crescent) suspended above the trees.
Oh, I thought, it’s so beautiful.
And then I thought: I better get busy.
But I didn’t get busy.
Instead, I pulled a chair up to the window and watched the moon—hanging there as if it were suspended by some invisible string.
I sat until the sky was light.
The moon was no longer visible.
I was entirely happy.

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