exile of the banshees

On most Mexican nights in my patio, the creatures of the dark reign.

Banshees. Golems. Or their Latino counterparts -- chupacabras.

Not only are they things that go bump in the night, they are things that hide in the dark -- because they are dark.

And on most nights, the darkness cloaks them. Either there is no moonlight or only the wisp of its reflected light. As compensation, those are the same nights where every planet and star puts on a full display.

But, once a month (or twice if we have a moon that sees us standing alone), all of that changes. The banshees and golems and chupacabras exit stage left to give the spotlight to the queen of the night -- the full moon.

Actually, the full moon brings her own spotlight. Last night was one of those nights. I was in bed reading when I glanced up and wondered why Omar had left the lights on in the patio. That is, I wondered that until I realized he had left for university a week ago.

It was not the patio lights. It was a full moon -- bathing the patio in that unmistakable silver light. The same light Peggy Lee used when singing "Is That All There Is?" If I had been reading a printed book, I could have read it with the help of the moon.

I gained an appreciation for the power of the moon's light in September 2001. My golden retriever, Professor Jiggs, and I were camping on the east slope of Steens Mountain. I cannot remember what astronomic phenomenon was taking place in the sky that night. Probably another of the many periodic meteor showers -- or another disappointing comet. But I knew that I would have only an hour between sunset and the rise of the moon to enjoy it.

When the sun went down, I was amazed at how bright the stars seemed. With all of its light pollution, the Willamette Valley, where I lived at the time, afforded only a faint copy of that sky. I reveled in it while I could because I knew the light from the moon would alter the view. But I did not know how much.

An hour after sunset, the moon rose over the horizon. It was as if someone had turned the lights on in a dark room. In the dark, I had not noticed the expanse of the salts-flat Alvord Desert to the southeast. I did now. Its white surface reflected the moon's surface as if it were a large lake of ice. I can still picture it.

The light in my patio was not quite that dramatic. But almost. The patio was no longer the devil's playground in the dark. Instead, it could have been the setting for Spenser's Faerie Queene. Or, perhaps, Iolantha.

I have a full calendar of travels stretching from the end of this month into 2023. But, I suspect, I will not find many sights as alluring as the monthly light parade in my patio.

Travel may broaden one's mind, but home make one appreciate what life offers everyone.