That's why last week I found myself outside, hanging clothes on the line by moonlight. I had stuck a flashlight in my coat pocket before going outside but found the moon was still up in the west, just a few days past full with plenty of light once my eyes had adjusted to the pre-dawn, pale luminescence of the waning moon.
It was 30 degrees Fahrenheit, but the highs for the day were expected to be in the 50's with no rain and few clouds. There was a slight breeze, so I was glad I'd donned my coat, and my fingers felt the cold nip of the fall as I worked with the wet clothes.
It was pure bliss, though.
I love the early morning time, the silence before the activity of the day, the feeling of new beginnings and possibilities. I feel a sense of optimism; I feel as if I am catching a wave of clean and purifying energy straight from the source of all the laws of nature.
Yes, I'm a morning person . . . and have been accused of being just a tad bit too "perky" when I jump out of bed in the morning. I try not to bring early-morning offense, but sometimes I forget myself and have to wipe that too-cheery smile off my face as I turn down the lights. I make up for it, though, by fixing tea for my wife in the morning. I may be cheery, but I'm cheerfully handing her a cup of tea, carefully timed to hit her hand the moment her feet touch the floor.
Hanging clothes by moonlight is pretty safe, though. The clothes don't mind if I smile and even spin them in a little dance on their way to the line and morning breeze. They don't mind how much I enjoy the soft radiance of the moon high in the west and the lightening of the horizon to the east. Let the birds sing into the silence and the smell of dew on the grasses remind me of the beautiful possibilities building for the day . . . because it is a beautiful day: I have people who love me and to love. I'm healthy and have good work to do. I'm a lucky man.
Come to think of it, hanging clothes by moonlight isn't a pleasant chore; it's a most beneficial recreation.
Copyright 2012 by Thomas L. Kepler, all rights reserved