Last night my son woke at two thirty in the morning. Nothing unusual, yet everything extraordinary. The house was quiet, except for his laughter echoing through the walls, a melody of joy through his giggles that only he can create. The moon was almost full last night and its silver light came through our window and into the living room floor. He was awake, alive, radiant, and prancing through our entire home.

I watched him move with boundless energy, his giggles chasing shadows across all of our rooms. And even though my body begged for sleep, my heart stayed wide open, caught between fatigue and fascination. People say our children feel the moon more deeply, maybe it’s the wolf in them trying to come out. I see it every month, the way his spirit rises when that glowing circle climbs the sky.

There is struggle in these hours. But there is also a wonder. An aching feeling that maybe one day he can tell me how the moon moves him and sways him. Tonight the full moon will continue. There will be little sleep but much wonder.