The Same Moon

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On warm summer nights, my mother and I would sit on the porch swing and admire the harvest moon. She’d always try to find a face in it– she would do the same thing with clouds, “Oh, look… do you see that giraffe?” or “That looks just like Uncle Sam on a horse.” It was nonsensical I know, but it was the way mom would look at things.

The thing I remember most about our moon watching was that she would always say, “That’s the same moon that Jesus looked at, or when my brother was in Vietnam she would sigh and say, “Stan is looking at the same moon we are.” It didn’t matter about the time difference, it was that moon, that connected mom to her child so far away in southeast Asia.

I’m still a moon watcher, and the faces I see are of my loved ones who loved me.

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