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Dear Moonlight - A Sonata of my life,

I sat up to a strange light creeping across the bed in a tiny, glowing sliver. What was this and from where did it come? My eye followed the slanted stream of light to a slight part in the drapes. The low angle and tiny space had me sideways across the bed, but there it was - the moon. Bright and clear and sneaking into my bedroom, a stream of light so silver and pure that all I could do was smile. I could almost hear those opening strains of Beethoven's beautiful and haunting accompaniment to this ethereal visitor to my bedchamber.

I am one of those people who likes to sleep in the pitch black darkness. When that cannot be had I drape something across my eyes to simulate the dark I need. I also like it extremely quiet. I have "dog hearing" and the least little noise seems very loud in my ears. I can hear a dripping faucet from the tub even though the bathroom door may be closed. It can make falling asleep quite challenging.

Moonlight has always been endearing to me. Growing up at the beach I loved the sunrise walk along the beach, but I also loved the starry walk at night - and especially loved watching a full moon rise red out of the Atlantic. Breathtaking in every way. All of nature has fascinated me since as far back as I can remember. I was dubbed "Flower Child" by classmates in the 70's because of my penchant to color rainbows , clouds, flowers and butterflies on every notebook and paper I owned.

I think my appreciation certainly came from my parents who both loved flowers and always pointed out the beauty around us. My father, a landscaper by trade, made us aware of plants and the curvilinear lines of landscaping in our yard and those he designed framed flowers and hedges in graceful combinations, many of which endure to this day. My mother's love for order, cleanliness and beauty was a part of our lives and her love for flowers in her yard and in her home is still the same.

Not every one can claim to love their upbringing. Many are plagued by the nightmares of homes in which they grew up. Mine was not perfect, but it was and remains perfect for me. I reflect on so many things I love and realize they are a direct result of the home in which I was raised, specifically, the people who raised me. The heritage of godliness, education and a strong work ethic abound. Perfect people, of course not; but interesting, dedicated, strong, determined, caring, fun, and family-loving - Yes. And I am grateful.

And all this from moonlight across my bed. Maybe the remnants of sickness are not quite gone away! But thankfully, I am finally on the mend.

With Love,

P.S. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

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