Sometimes we debate, my husband and I, the difference between waxing and waning; gibbous versus crescent.

The age old conundrum between a moon half empty and a moon half full.

Pessimist vs Optimist.

Tonight as we sit on the on the porch, on the corner where old buildings tilt at even older windmills; as we witness the fall of day and the rise of night played out as it has been over and over and over again; a cycle stuck on repeat, on a corner where time stands still, there is no debate.

Tonight we agree.

The rising moon is indeed full and full of trouble.

The hackles on arms and the backs of sleeping dogs begin to rise.

“It smells like rain,” I remark; although there is no mention of it in the forecast.

“It does,” my husband confirms.

And so, we brace ourselves, despite the calm both real and perceived against the coming storm….