We just passed the last full moon of Winter. Holi to the Hindus. The nights were bright and clear, preternaturally clear. One can imagine the hindu bonfires. So much light even at night, like our winter holidays.
And in the morning, because I wake early, I saw a golden moon sinking into the trees on the top of the ridge. The lawn had absorbed the stars over night, the branches were lacquered with moon white ice.
“ Like diamonds,” my mother would have said, though she never owned a diamond. Never cared to, I imagine. Her tastes are simple, clean as moonlight. Though her hands are often dirty from gardening.
After the moon slipped behind the ridge, then the horizon, cold white moonishness lingered on the lawn as frost, until the rising sun made them ignite with light, then melted them.
I started gardening late today, happy not to need diamonds.
Even happier that they melted.