There’s a small room in my house that probably, at some time, was a closet. Now an open window welcomes the sun all day. Abiding in the room are my plants, feathers, and my grandmother’s rocking chair. Soft music plays for them throughout the day. The rocking chair is probably 100 or more years old. My grandmother rocked her baby, my mother, in the chair. My mother sat in the chair and rocked her baby… me.

Last night I went in to say good night and turn the music off. With the season’s change the sliver moon stood centered in the window highlighting the room’s darkness. I know I probably moved the chair but its position I did not recognize. The chair was turned facing the moon. In the darkness its silhouette and the moon were dancing. Perhaps the chair was gently rocking the moon. Or, perhaps the moon was softly rocking the rocker. No matter the momentum’s source, the invitation was heard and received. I sat down in the chair, slowly rocked, let the creak move through my body, and gazed at the moon. The singer’s melody swam through the darkness like dolphins in the night… “The sweetest words I’ve ever read or thought or sung or prayed were praises for the world.*”

An odd scrich tonight. One that has no point and maybe absent an ending. But in a world filled with so much suffering and loss, a little hobbit sat in a rocker. A rocker crafted so well from the trees of the earth and pride that it has withstood the test of time. A sense of legacy creaked in its bones. Plants were bathing in moonlight. Feathers glistened while the gifting birds were nestled in trees. The moon smiled. The stars danced. And I rocked gently to the music. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Gratitude. Hope. Gratitude. Hope. Gratitude. Hope.

The camera will not capture the image in the darkness that sat as I rocked. It requires light. And, maybe, that’s the point.

*Jennifer Berezan “Praises to the World”