Last night I saw the northern lights. There won’t be many more nights that offer the chance to see their colors. They were faint green, a long wisp across the sky just above the tree line, and another stretch in the middle of the night sky. By the time I went inside and got Meredith, Colby and Kelsey back out to see them they were gone.
At 10:00 the sun still reaches up from the horizon to create dusk, and the light is lingering longer by 5 minutes or more each day. As we drove home from Calypso the other night, we saw the last bright full moon, hanging low and big over the land, shining like new copper. As the spring progresses the moon will show as a faded white in the sunny sky, and the stars will stay hidden in the light. I’ve been told I’ll have a lot more energy because of the constant sun, but I wonder is it a worthy tradeoff? For so many summers I’ve spent the nights following trails to campfires, finding my way by looking up through the trees at the moon, or laying in open fields beneath falling stars and millions of pinpricks of light splayed across a dark navy sky. Is it possible to prepare myself for the ache I’ll feel when summer really starts? Or is it too presumptuous to know how much I’ll miss Vermont and the summer camp I spent the last 14 years at? I do not know what will come, and I am happy to be here in Ester. But even as I live in the moment, there are times my mind wanders and worries, and I don’t know yet how to stop it from doing so.
On Friday Meredith and I went to a yoga class in town, and the instructor offered this intention for our practice: May I be willing to meet each moment of my life as it is. To which I’ve added: May I be willing to accept my life with love and compassion. When I am caught in moments of worry, I can remember this and know that exactly where I am is where I am meant to be. It is okay if I miss Vermont, and it is okay to be happy and find home in another place.