“Moon, moon moon, shining bright. Moon, moon, moon, my night light. Moon, moon, moon, I can see you’re taking care of me.”

— Laurie Berkner

I am not yet 60, though it feels like I am. I am 59. I live alone and I am not lonely. But some nights, when there is a warm, dry breeze blowing and the house is quiet except for the kicking on and off of the HVAC fan – the house not sure, either, what season it is. Too warm for fall, too cold for summer. The time change has happened already and it’s black as pitch by six, which makes me want to just put on my pajamas and crawl into bed, though it’s too early, even for dinner, much less sleep. On nights like these I am aware that I am alone. And I take a little less comfort in it than normal. But, if I’m lucky, I’ll hear what has become my favorite sound, the muted “badoomp bump” of the Google chat notification on my phone. One of my girls is texting and has a question, how to cook brown rice? Or wants to share a picture of the sunset or her latest outfit. On nights like this one, so peaceful and quiet and alone-ly, that little sound sends me to the moon.