Oh glory, who turned on all the lights?! Ah, it’s just the moon, so bright it’s casting sun-like shadows off the junipers, and the long slants of silhouette stretching far off the posts of the lamb pen belong to the day.
It’s well past midnight, and I sit here unable to sleep, a John Wayne-sized mug of mint tea warming my hands and lips–there is literally a picture of John Wayne on the mug–and half think about how easily I could read a book out there right now. But really, how could I even take my eyes off the moon with no walls to obscure the glory?
Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
in the heavens.
Through the praise of children and infants
you have established a stronghold against your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger.
When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?