The intense shades of grace

A point of discussion with my editor centered around my description of the shades of shadows. Many scenes in Shroud of Ice are couched under the light of the moon. My family often walked out into the moonlight whether to a bonfire or to identify the stars, we looked to the heavens for the strength of light pushing through the overwhelming darkness. That's where I discovered shadows have colors. It's not a question of black or white. The night's light pulses with depth of perception.

The effect of a super moon etched the following lines:

"The full bonemeal moon spread luminously through the vast richness of colors found in the shadows. The darkness tingled. I stood alone, empty, and isolated from the marrow of life around me. Gazing again at the stars pulled questions echoing from the corners of my mind. Who else might be seeing the Raven and maybe thinking of me?" (Shroud of Ice 4)

A longing to be remembered, a deep calling to be seen, to feel loved pulls Gaspare to return home. He seeks forgiveness to define the shape of his existence within the darkness surrounding him. Longing sources through the shadows. What feels like loneliness is more like palpable shades within the shadows of Gaspare's life. The darkness cannot hold itself in the intense light of a super moon. Instead a silver sheen casts back what he thought was unseeable and reveals a beauty of silent grace among the conversations of shadows. It's in this darkness that he listens to the courage growing inside. What does he hear? The desire of freedom calling him to more.

Last night, this super moon, the Beaver Moon as called by ancient people, glowed warmth in an early November night. My camera cannot capture the silver covering like a sheer snow laying on the ground. Only my eyes can see the moon's light creating depth of beauty. Unlike Gaspare, I did not sit alone. My husband and I walked out into the night, found a bench and sat together under the grace of this intense light.

For a reason I have yet to understand, the vastness of a sky set against a super moon gives me more hope than the brightest, sunniest day. Maybe because I see and know I can simply be. Maybe the sense of graceful beauty secures in me a sense of strength in immense darkness. I do not look to the sun and wonder who else might be thinking of me. I look to the night sky and see the star Vega and think of my daughter 582 miles away and send a prayer to her. It is in the darkness that I look to the source of light and find grace.