We San Franciscans tend to gloat about our Winter weather—while the rest of the country is buried in ice and snow, we like to mention the recent picnic enjoyed at the beach or a game of Frisbee in the grassy soccer field overlooking the Bay.
But not lately. Spring is here and we’re all complaining. We’ve had so much rain that small ponds have appeared in the middle of park meadows with their own mini-ecosystems. So much rain that trees have slumped to the ground because the soggy earth can’t hold their roots any longer.
And while the rest of the world waited in anticipation for Saturday night’s Super Moon, we in the Bay Area knew we had little hope of catching a glimpse. Serves us right for gloating.
But Friday night, I hadn’t yet heard of the upcoming Super Moon, the March Worm Moon that was predicted to be bigger and brighter than any moon in more than 20 years. So when a break in the weather sent my dog and I out for our midnight walk, I was stunned to look up at the extreme Maxfield Parrish-style sculpted clouds backlit by a moon too bright to look at directly.
I had a sudden urge to write a poem in praise of the too-bright moon in the unreal sky and tuck it in the folds of the paper bark tree alongside our house, the way Lenny hid her poems in Jandy Nelson’s heartbreakingly beautiful, tender and funny The Sky Is Everywhere.
I am learning to take my blessings as they come.