Last night I left the house just before sunset, dressed warmly with an extra pair of socks tucked into one pocket of my winter coat. In the other pocket I had my measuring cup ready to go.
I wanted to go down to the river early and watch the full arc of that big full moon come out and make it’s way into the starlit sky.
I wanted to watch it hit full zenith and then dip my measuring cup into the river water and draw up a full cup and drink it down.
I was unprepared to see members of the community lining the banks.
Their faces upturned to the sky, all watching, all silent.
I could see Paul standing on the opposite bank, his toes turned outwards in large fur boots. He stood across the bank from Barbie, in her heavily embroidered jacket a staff in one hand.
Bess stood down-river, holding two young children to her sides with a in infant strapped to her back in a papoose. The children were round-cheeked, soft and silent, but they turned to watch me approach before Bess jostled them gently and redirected their gaze to the sky without speaking a word.
There were the men I saw outside the post office sometimes – three of them. All in long blue wool coats with thick knit caps on their heads sitting in camp chairs, leaning back to keep their gaze upward.
There was the postal worker, the barmaid, the stock boy from the grocery store and countless others I may have seen or not seen over the last 5 weeks.
I chose a place in the line along the bank and tipped my face towards the sky to watch and wait with everyone else.