Even as I hurried home this evening, all the hungry bellies and debts of affection waiting to be filled, I had to pause beside an open field past sunset of this shortest day to see the tiny moon arching over the last of the light. That magic world that I know I'll never visit, that mystery that overhangs, calling. Sigrid told me recently that she wants to go to the moon for her birthday, and she believes she will, while I will only stop for the merest unintended moment, to thank it for being so beautiful.