climbing cowles on a full moon with my daughter

it's grey when we start up the

mountain, and early, but we

want to catch the moon at its

fullest

moon in aquarius, i tell her

on the way

we talk about the power of

manifesting, intention and

belief, about in betweens

and liminal spaces

and beginnings, isn't life

a series of beginnings?

i follow her lead as she

bounds up the mountain

as if her legs were made

for this, at ease with the

climb and altitude, with

slipperiness and steep rocks

i trail behind, my pace

cautious, leaning on rocks

and avoiding anything too

steep, i seek solidity, still

filling holes of babygirl

groundlessness, slow and

steady, i feel the fullness

of lungs

i am here, i am safe

my alarm goes off, the full

moon at its zenith i say

we stop, look out toward

the sea and lake murray and

the sky, puffy clouds making

way for blue skies

perfect timing, i smile to myself

and we say silent prayers, take

some deep breaths, i suggest

we grab a rock or stick, some

talisman to remind

and i grab the first stone i see,

prickly and scratchy red with

some gold, tiny enough for

my palm to hold, this belongs

like my dreams i've been

afraid to dream

but here on the mountain, up

here with the clouds and

the clearing skies and my

precious first-born, i feel my

dreams like i feel my lungs

like i feel my feet and when

i reach the top i stop for just

a bit, maybe a minute, then

run, run all the way down