Moonrise

I awoke in the Midsummer not-to-call
night, in the white and the walk of
the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the
fringe of a fingernail
held to the candle,
or paring of paradisaical fruit,
lovely in waning but lustreless.

"Moonrise" by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Traveling places you outside of the comfortable place, leaving trails of home at each stop along the journey. We look for moments of comfort at each turn, and call those who are back at home to get a glimpse of the life that is continuing on as usual.

But while we can journey back to a place in our minds we are still away from home. And that comfortable blanket is not at the end of the bed.

Our homes are temporary though, and sometimes I think about that when I travel because my home may change nightly when on a journey. However, no matter where we are, we can look to God's creation for glimpses of our true home. Our true place is not here at home or there on the road. It is in God heavenly realm.

As the moon rose on my last night of my business trip, I sat in the airport reading this poem by one of my favourite poets, surrounded by strangers (except for Colin) who were on their own journey. But we were all the same. All of us there on the late, late night, tired and weary travelers moving from one city to the next. Gliding through the high clouds on a plane, underneath the glow of the rising moon.