I put my book down on my lap and gazed at the eastern horizon. A glorious full moon was rising, bathing the road and the trees before me in its cool and pleasing light. The golden orb would soon shrink in size and become a flat disc as it travelled across the sky. It was becoming too dark to read. I closed my book and continued watching the rising of the full Moon, a sight that never ceases to take my breath away. The thriller that I was reading did not give me as much excitement as this view before me did.
My son came running towards me and pointed to the sky, saying “Moon, Moon” in his baby talk. I nodded and smiled at him. After a while, he ran away again back to his toys.
I grew solemn as I thought about a similar evening about a year ago. My baby was in my arms and I was pointing out the full moon to him from this very same balcony. He was gazing up, his eyes wide in wonder. He must have been about five months old.
A year has passed by, though it feels like decades… centuries.
My son has learned to walk since. And I stopped walking.