an odd collection of tales about learning to do the impossible

The moon rises

I grill fish over a real wood fire (no charcoal briquets) to eat with bread our hosts baked this morning and with wine made at the vineyard down the road. My husband, who prefers the local beer, makes a salad fashioned from what we bought from a produce stand.  As we prepare our meal, the moon rises.
Ah, the moon. It shines down on the two of us and on every other person I cherish on this planet and on the other seven billion or so that I don’t know well, don’t particularly care for or have yet to meet.
Read the rest of this post on my c3 blog at The moon rises.
light-of-the-moon
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