"Morning Coffee with Moonlight Thoughts" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Although it is a brilliant, cool, and sunlit late July morning, I find myself foregoing my usual garden walk. My steaming mug of coffee, normally cupped in hand as I meander barefoot among lilies and rabbits, is instead cradled beside me here indoors, accompanied not by birdsong, but by the delicate voice of a violin.
Joshua Bell’s interpretation of Dvořák’s Song to the Moon fills the room—each note silken, each phrase a sigh. Though I do not know the original words, the music writes its own poetry into my heart. It is longing and tenderness. It is memory. It is love that spans lifetimes.
And so, despite the golden sun rising above the trees, I find myself staring inward... upward... moonward. I am a child again, gazing out a bedroom window at the great glowing pearl in the night sky. I remember making wishes—secret ones. Wishes for love. For joy. For understanding. For someone, somewhere, to see me and understand me in return.
But this morning, I am not wishing. I am remembering. I am feeling. The music wraps around me like moonlight in early dawn, and I realize I no longer need to ask for anything. The blessings of my life are already here.
I can feel the moon’s pull—not as a plea, but as a presence. It is the part of me that believes in beauty, even in sorrow. The part that remembers love is both dream and reality. That happiness, even fleeting, is real and enough.
Even now, with sunlight glinting off the rim of my coffee cup, I feel the moon. And in that quiet place inside where music and memory meet, I am whole.
~Wylddane
Joshua Bell’s interpretation of Dvořák’s Song to the Moon fills the room—each note silken, each phrase a sigh. Though I do not know the original words, the music writes its own poetry into my heart. It is longing and tenderness. It is memory. It is love that spans lifetimes.
And so, despite the golden sun rising above the trees, I find myself staring inward... upward... moonward. I am a child again, gazing out a bedroom window at the great glowing pearl in the night sky. I remember making wishes—secret ones. Wishes for love. For joy. For understanding. For someone, somewhere, to see me and understand me in return.
But this morning, I am not wishing. I am remembering. I am feeling. The music wraps around me like moonlight in early dawn, and I realize I no longer need to ask for anything. The blessings of my life are already here.
I can feel the moon’s pull—not as a plea, but as a presence. It is the part of me that believes in beauty, even in sorrow. The part that remembers love is both dream and reality. That happiness, even fleeting, is real and enough.
Even now, with sunlight glinting off the rim of my coffee cup, I feel the moon. And in that quiet place inside where music and memory meet, I am whole.
~Wylddane
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