what i did last weekend

i'd never seen a lavender moon
except for in my dreams.

but there it was,
escaping sunset and changing
its face
through pink and purple hues
in rapid, short, gasps -
hanging low over the outer banks
basking in the north carolina wind
caught between blades
of swaying beach grass
above the cool, shell shocked sand.

it climbed high into the
peach fuzz clouds
battling with the ever darkening blues of dusk
to be the most arresting view in the sky.

and as night fell dark and warm -
wrapped in stars and satellites -
the moon completed its cycle of color
and changed back to its flat face
of bone and teeth.

at peace.

In the cool humid morning, traffic backed up as usual. The same commuters who drive I-95 each day still left way too many car lengths between bumpers and slammed on brakes to switch lanes. NPR blabbed Petraeus. We talked about it being a harsh winter.

I thought of the things I had to do today and played with ideas for my novel. And as I crested over the hill on 395 on my way to work, the Pentagon in front of me put things into perspective.

Six years ago today, in the same hour as I was arriving to work this morning, freedom in America adopted an eerie new feeling.

There are points in our lives that we all remember. In the days, hours, and months after the attacks when the phrase "nine-eleven" became a rallying cry and we briefly united as a people, one of the most significant things I remember is that the feeling of safety I once enjoyed was never going to be present again.

And the worse realization for me was that many people in the world had never felt safe at all.

And I was ashamed to be so lucky.