Last night/this morning.

I woke suddenly, full of energy and totally awake. My bedroom was filled with light, as if someone had set up floodlights right in the window. I pulled the curtain aside and saw a brilliant, blinding full moon, high in the sky.

‘Hello,’ I said softly, peering up.

The intensity of the moon was such that I rarely see, the angle meaning I was bathed in light even as I tilted my face upwards. I glanced at the clock. Exactly midnight.

Balancing on that knife edge between last night and this morning, marvelling at what it felt like to be awakened, all this energy quiet and large and awake. I realised I’d fallen asleep with my glasses on, which left the normally wet-watercolour vision of the night crystal clear.

I climbed back into bed, balancing right between the crisp, cool air of my room (windows open, moon shining down) and the warmth of my blankets. I thought in poems and pictures, just me and the moon, just me right here.

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