Luna Plena

A time of quiet reflection aided by this almost gibbet moon.

Adam is 18 tomorrow, I am trying to write him a letter to express my pride, wonderment, awe and love as he sets forth on his trip into full adulthood, but the words won't come.

I am seeking not to be sentimental and mawkish (though thats how I feel) nor directive, stern, inflexible and dictatorial. I don't want to retain him for the seed must land a suitable distance from the tree, but I do wish I could hold back the passage of time just for a little while longer.

What moments would I freeze? How difficult to choose between the sweet smelling baby, the serious four year old rearranging all the chairs in Charles De Gaulle airport, so they would be in straight lines, his first day at school, serious and worried about his tie, the Saturday nights where even up to last year he would snuggle in to watch telly, until he found someone cuddlier and prettier to snuggle with.

Now I stand at the prow of his future, ready to launch him down the slipway to bob alone on the choppy waves of the uncharted ocean. No map, ,just an uncertain moral compass inherited from past generations, a store of love and barrels of concern. Bon voyage, my precious boy.

Now please, a cloud, to obscure the moon and draw a veil over sadness.