Not many of you may know, but the moon has some personal religious meaning for me. I recall the bedtime moments I cherish so dearly me and my sister had when we spent the night at our grandparents house. Before our grandmother put us to bed, she would invite us on a step near the white painted window in the room, embraced us close to her warm body with one arm and pointed her finger at the moon with her other one. Look at the moon, she said. What she exactly told us whilst admiring the moon neglects my memory but that ritual was our little treasure we shared when bright nights appear before going into the night. Too young at the time to fully understand the value of what I may comprehend now. Vivid, bold and sweet, she was, my nanna. Short white fluffy hair, not tall at all, you would think she shrunk every year just a tiny bit. She often wore her favorite blue sweater and had blue loving eyes. I miss her. After we said the moon goodnight, we crawled into bed and she would draw a cross onto our foreheads and gave us a soft smack on the cheek. God bless and a little tap with that, she said. I still remember the smell of the old house, I remember her voice, her fingers, her wisdom, her fearless aura and at the same time her caring soul. Each night, still, when the sky is bright, I lift my head up to the sky looking for that moon. I think of you. I wish you good night. I tell you that I still miss you and that I love you. Sometimes I tell the moon a little story I want you to know. I think of our treasure we share. And some times it just occurs, once in a while, when my mind isn’t on earth, I’m overwhelmed by the day, my thoughts or I’m simply day dreaming again, when the the town is already set for bedtime. Suddenly I see you, I see that shiny star up in the oh so familiar blue sky. This canvas never gets old. It always makes me smile, even when I cry.
Dedicated to my beloved grandmother.
deborelle 