I don't miss the moon.

In Austin, the moon is my most secret lover. Nightly I walk under her, gazing and tracking her cycles. We talk, and I love it when she glows as brightly as possible.

Out here in middle-of-nowhere, Oregon, city lights don't compete for the night sky. The hidden stars, visible to our ancestors, reappear. They hang, showing the depth and age of our universe. They inspire wonder.

Out here, I prefer the stars. The moon, when she comes, is almost like a distraction. Superficial against the backdrop of eternity.