Super Blood Moon

Photo by digitaltrends.com

                  Photo by digitaltrends.com

“It’s surreal,” Jonathon said, gazing out the window.

It felt like something out of a sci-fi flick.

I grabbed Ruby from her room to show her.

“I’m still awake,”she called from her curtained enclave.  Don’t ask.

We walked to the study window.
“Oooh!  That orange is creepy,” Ruby said, eyes wide. The angry red circle eyed us from space.

“The next one will be in 2033,” Jonathon told her.

Ruby turned and looked at us.

“Your dad and I will be dead by then,” I said.

“Sue.  Do the math,” Jonathon admonished.

Oh, right. Sheesh!

“Ruby, by the time the blood moon comes back, you’ll likely be grown with kids of your own,” he said.

Okay.  Better.

Later, we tore Zac away from his computer to view the super moon.

Image by ktla.com

                     Image by ktla.com

“Cool,” he said.  “It’s really bright.  But I wouldn’t call it super.”

Um. Thanks.

We’d watched the blood moon last night. It was definitely creepy, an orange-red mass on the rise.  Then the super moon arrived.  Bigger, brighter, and better than before!

Today, I’m on the comeback trail from the cold.  I’m left with a cough and a lounge singer voice.  I thought I’d try easing back into running.  The super moon, still white-hot bright, made the pre-dawn darkness almost like daylight.  The streetlights with their bluish glow competed with the intensity of the enormous orb in the sky.

I thought about the fleeting nature of time.  In 18 years, when the blood moon revisits, where will we be?  Zac will be 34, hopefully a grown, responsible adult.  Ruby will be 27, probably doing something artistic.  I hope to be a grandma by then.

Many have written about the blood moons signifying the end of days. However, I have no idea of the spiritual significance of blood moons or super moons.  I just think they’re fascinating. And they don’t last.  They only come around, well, once in a blue moon. Gazing at the moon as a family might seem a frivolous pastime.  But it seemed like a chance to mark an occasion to me. We will not pass this way again.

Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. – Psalm 103:15

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