Since living in the country, my husband and I have come to enjoy the night sky. Without the glow of urban lighting cast upward, we have a clear view of stars and constellations. Where we live, when the sun goes down, darkness is thorough and restful. The only light is that of a full moon of which we enjoy a glorious view.

October’s full moon is given the name Hunter’s Moon. On such nights, according to the Farmer’s Almanac, people historically gathered meat to sustain their families over the harsh winter months when game would be harder to come by.

We recently enjoyed a Hunter’s Moon, large and slung low to the horizon on this past Thanksgiving weekend. After dinner, our adult children ventured outside to arrange kindling and logs in the firepit. When night descended, and the moon shone bright, we enjoyed the flames, sometimes in conversations and at other times in appreciative silence. I thought about the times we camped with our children and about gooey toasted marshmallows on the end of sticks, and their faces lit with awe at the glowing embers. The images are so vivid. Nostalgia tastes sweet.

None of us checked our phones for email or texts. We were present. This fire, this evening was what mattered. It felt important that we’d started a new tradition, a Thanksgiving fire. It felt like something I wanted to remember always. My son, an artist, thought similarly. Through his photograph and my video, we have captured elements of the experience and the beauty of the Hunter’s Moon. Yes, we were here and we did this. And these images, if we can scroll through and find them again one day, will remind us of our first Thanksgiving bonfire. But it’s a future woodsmoke scent caught in our clothing, slightly more aged faces illuminated by the crackling fire, and the voices so dear and familiar, that will stoke nostalgia again.

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I love the company of curious people. Our conversations leave me feeling lighter and joyful. New ideas tumble inside my head after we part ways. In correlation to curiosity, they are introspective and keenly interested in other people’s view points. Ideas, humanity, and the natural world light them up. They extend the pleasure of their discoveries to others. Upon reflection, in detailing attributes of an interesting companion, I’ve also described a writer.
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 The Last Hoffman  is a poignant family drama featuring a multilayered cast of tightly woven characters in a fractured northern community. It will restore your belief in second chances.

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