This is Margaret Meister Fitzgerald. She was my great grandmother, on my mother's side. Taken in the 1930's, she was on the family property, next to the chicken house.   In the background is present day Rosyln, Pa, just beyond the Sandy Run Creek.

I am a self professed moon girl. My wedding song was about the moon, I have a janky tattoo of the moon on the center of my back, my core. (I very much regret this tattoo, but my love for Lady Luna remains strong) It's been my constant; it has given me permission to be at my wildest, best, and probably my worst. It's light has cooled the hottest of summer nights and lit up the windows, when it was to cold and snowy to be hopeful. Usually, September's full moon is the Harvest Moon, but not this year. What makes it a Harvest Moon? The full moon closest to the autumnal equinox takes that term, and this year it's officially in October. My sweet September Moon will wear the sash as the Barley Moon, or the Corn Moon, as this is historically (depending where you are) the best time to harvest these crops. So if it's clear, it's likely you will find me laying in my driveway, looking up, and soaking in the rays.

A handy moon phase calendar can be found here. 

Dusk, 8.18.17

Forget roadside crossings.
Go nowhere with guns.
Go elsewhere your own way,

lonely and wanting. Or
stay and be early:
next to deep woods

inhabit old orchards.
All clearings promise.
Sunrise is good,

and fog before sun.
Expect nothing always;
find your luck slowly.

Wait out the windfall.
Take your good time
to learn to read ferns;

make like a turtle:
downhill toward slow water.
Instructed by heron,

drink the pure silence.
Be compassed by wind.
If you quiver like aspen

trust your quick nature:
let your ear teach you
which way to listen.

You've come to assume
protective color; now
colors reform to

new shapes in your eye.
You've learned by now
to wait without waiting;

as if it were dusk
look into light falling:
in deep relief

things even out. Be
careless of nothing. See
what you see. 

Philip Booth