We chased the moon the other night.
Hannah came home late and thought the glowing red light over the hill was a prairie dweller's worst nightmare. But when she topped the rise there it was.
She comes inside and barely has time to put her stuff down, she can hardly wait to tell us. And half of us are already out the door and up the road before Mom and Dad can get their shoes on.
I'm all in there, too, before brother stops me because he can't believe I don't have my camera. I'm hesitant because how can you capture all the beauty of this, all that it really is, all that it really means in just a couple clicks of a shutter?
As it rises it turns from the red of a fire to a golden ring of a kingdom in the sky. We watch from the road as it glistens on the pond, defying the lines of clouds and shining through, relentless. And coyotes howl from the prairie and long after everyone's left, sister and I stay, finding angles and moments still where the beauty of it all just keeps us there. I snap on, but it just can't be done:
You can't cup up God's love, there's too much of it. Because once you find you're holding a small saucer full--the next moment it's all overflowing.