I found this in a journal that I wrote back in 2005
So last night I had a moon bath. I came home around 9 o'clock ---drove up the very dark driveway and up the hill. I parked the car right in front of the dahlias.
I climbed out of my metal contraption; away from the comfortable control-temp air and cushioned seats, and into the magical spotlight. The house was dark, but the moon was bright.
Very, very.
I couldn't even see the milky-way, bright.
I walked as quietly as I could--around the field--surrounded by inky black trees and a navy blue backdrop of a sky.
The grass, illuminated by the celestial lamp, was soft and swishy.
My feet took a turn around the tomato plot, past the chickens and up to the goose pen--by the fence, where my ears heard them rustle and stir in the darkness.
My white house was a pale periwinkle with all that light shining down, looking quiet and despondent.
My hands found the pockets of my coat. They nestled down in the cozy cloth for a moment, but the moon was too powerful...they had to be out in the night.
I discarded my coat.
And my shoes.
And my socks.
I climbed up on the back of my car and moon-bathed-- my hair falling around me---drinking the sweet darkness and the moist air.
I lay there, sprawled out for no one to see.
Just me and the moon.
I didn't want to go in. It was 9:45 and I had promises to keep.
I slid off the green metal, my feet landing on soft moss. I collected my clothes, and my keys.
Reluctantly---slowly--I turned toward the house, the moon at my back.
Then, with a final magical surge I danced, one moonlit dance in my driveway. My arms wide open to the sky--my feet strong---my body spinning, I danced--and danced, and...stood.
I stood bathed in moonlight.
Then walked onto the deck with pitter-patter feet...
with the door open, a wave of warm kitchen air and broccoli soup wafted about me.
Different air space than my moon-stage outside. But...I shut the door.
and had a quiet bowl of soup.
I wish it were warm enough for a moon-bath-dance tonight.
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