I went outside around 8:15 PM tonight to look for meteors. It was dark. There on the bench of the deck lay the wooden sword. I picked it up, faced south. The moon hung in that direction, glimmering, approaching first quarter. I raised the sword high and paused, experiencing that. I slowly brought it down to horizon level, bisecting the moon. Moonlight glinted off the sword, my hands, my arms. White light. The air was temperate, a breeze stirring. The whisper of dry autumn leaves rustling against each other. A cat started screaming, a howling crescendo in the distance. Dogs barked at the sound. I held steady, looking up at zenith, at dim stars, then down again at the straight line of light reflecting from my arms and sword. The cat stopped. I breathed the night air, the stars and light, holding the sword outward. Then, I permitted the weight to drop, my arms and the sword pointing downward, between my feet. And I felt quiet. Grounded.

I did an “en garde”, a playful lunge at the moon, then carefully lay the sword on the bench.