10.30 at night, I sit alone outside on the ground in bare feet and watch the clouds come and go over the moon. The breeze is warm and strong, and the moon seems to ease in and out in long breaths. Instinctively I begin to breathe in deeply each time it reveals itself – at first in wonder and then in harmony. Although nearly dark, the sky is still pale blue, and the very special combination of light from a full moon and light from high summer gives the clouds extra form and depth. Their edges glow bright and white.
For the first time today the temperature is just right for me and I briefly wonder how easy it would be to sleep outside all night.
To my right, Venus and Jupiter shine close together like two bright stars and above my head an aeroplane passes over like a lazy shooting star. A blackbird calls out one feeble last reminder that this is his patch, and as the lawn slowly disappears into darker and stronger shadow, I imagine hedgehogs and baby toads, and I enjoy losing the view of the structures and planting I have forced upon the garden – and all the thoughts of work still to do. I am simply in the night and with the moon and clouds. I feel small and weak and ineffectual and it is good because that is how it should be.