blood moon

December 31st and January 1st are just a sun set and a sun rise apart, although they feel so different. You could be someone different with the new year: someone who went to the gym, someone who didn’t worry, someone who ate more vegetables. But you still don’t go to the gym and I still worry myself sick, but we do eat more vegetables. You win some, you lose some.

Time pauses once you step on an airplane and the earth just spins beneath it. The time at the destination changes, the time at the departure changes, but I notice no change except for the aches in my muscles from sitting still. Then you’re in a time zone between the two, and it’s hard to go to sleep and it’s even harder to wake up, and then you’re wearing the sad, tired eyes, too.

“Did you hear about the blood moon?” I asked. There were only a few more hours left until the lunar eclipse — morbidly, the Blood Moon.
“Wasn’t that yesterday?” you asked.
“Nope, it’s tonight. At 3:40, if it’s clear out,” I said.
“Hopefully we will be finished by then,” you said.

I was driving home, flying around winding curves, but slowed to a stop when I saw pairs of reflective eyes from a thicket of trees. A fawn stood, knobby knees pointing inward, ears at awkward angles. It was small enough to have just been born, the mother standing behind it, watching my headlights. “Born under a blood moon,” I said to the fawn, but really just myself. It’s a phrase I haven’t quite been able to shake. There’s something beautiful about something so innocent born with a curse.

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