Windows rolled down, full moon up

Ironically enough, this photo credit belongs to the Sun.

I love full moons.

When I saw tonight's appearance, I stood in my driveway, staring at the orb before getting into my van to run to the store after meeting a deadline for a new client. I heard the ignition of a car in a neighboring driveway and remembered I needed to go somewhere.

After parking my van in the Super Target's lot, I walked toward the entrance with my head over my shoulder, my eyes magneted to the glowing golden sphere that lit up the nine p.m. sky. I stopped to take a snapshot with my phone's camera, posting yet another grainy full-moon photo to Facebook, one that would never do the real thing justice.

Why am I obsessed about a full moon? What makes me pause in parking lots, stop lights, and my own driveway staring at it when there's so much else to do in one night? Thing circles our planet 24/7/365-1/4, after all. Full, half, or sliver.

Moons have been the stuff of folklore and music for centuries. Everyone from Neil Young to Neil deGrasse Tyson has ruminated on the moon's magic in some form or another.

I was born in the same year a human being first set foot on our moon. Millions of people living today were born in 1969. No big whoop. I doubt the year I was born has anything to do with my peculiar Platonic moon fetish.

It could be that when I force myself to stop the rush and tumble of my busy schedule if only for a few seconds and appreciate that which is greater than us. That which is more lasting and cosmic, which whispers a faint echo of distant realms and the expanse of the universe. In those moments, I find reverence and peace. And a way to get my deep on. Temporarily, anyway.

But even a few moments of peace can be bliss. And that counts for something. My God, in today's world, that can count for everything.

Good thing full moons come once a month. Something to look forward to.

Blessed be.