I pace. Window to window. This is the last full moon of the year. This Moon has many names. Wolf Moon, Ice Moon, Cold Moon, Moon after Yule, Long Night Moon, Datta Jayanti Moon, Unduvap Poya, and Chang’e Moon. This night, I call her Hidden Moon. Hidden by the lights of industry. Hidden beneath the cold cloudy firmament. She is concealed. Still I know she shines. As we do. Waiting for the new year to bring new light in the middle of a long cold time.
“We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn
Frae morning sun till dine
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin days of auld lang syne//
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp
And surely I'll be mine
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne” (Robert Burns, 1788)