 Its light is undeniable. Its intensity has been known to turn a non-believer into a born again mystic. What holds such radiant power? The moon. There are 12 (sometimes 13) full moons in a year. Out of those 12, probably half are clearly visible. Six times in a year, if I am very lucky, I am washed in celestial energy.  Now that we are all in a, make the best of a bad situation scenario, the moon has become my lifeline. This silver, shimmering orb shakes me from my dull, monotonous funk, replacing it with the wonder of being alive. It’s a slap across my face from Mother Nature saying, “Snap out of it”, said with a thick Brooklyn accent. Under the super-charged glow of January’s Wolf moon, I entered an alternate dimension. It was a space where the mundane, analytical mind shuts off. Logic was momentarily suspended and replaced with sheer amazement.  Finally, I awoke from my dreary slumber.
Live in color, Abby
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