Thank You, Moon Gazing Hare

I want to thank the Moon Gazing Hare, appropriately. She who sits on my chest of drawers, with her neck cranked back waiting patiently, sniffing the air. She watches stellar time and I, sometimes crouched with her, sitting low on my dark blue carpet stared out to space. She came from a trip to Cambridge, which ended in a disaster. Retrieved out of a handbag, unbroken. The Moon Gazing Hare is made from alabaster, she is white and chalky like how we imagine the moon to be. But she looks soft, like cheese or mochi, which is also how we imagine the moon to be. In flux / many things at once / ‘the inconstant moon.’ I love her. I fear her. I am in awe of her.

The Moon Gazing Hare has been a constant. As I turned over another year, changed offices, visited continents, said goodbyes, wept at brides, left a job and started a new one; she has been steadfast and still. Her elongated ears swept back and streamlined, her tiny eyes marking the heavens. Apparently a Norse myth, a pagan belief, where if one clocked a hare looking up at the moon it was a good omen. A sign of stirring hope, new beginnings, re-birth and growth. That was all stated on the package I received her in, which is now in the recycling. The Moon Gazing Hare will stay with me still, I’ll put her on my window sill. For tonight the moon is full, a yellow dot high above our polluted air, beaming.