Chasing the Moon’s Magic

Why I Wake for the Moon

How many times have you truly watched the moon set? Not just glimpsed it in passing, but saw it slip quietly behind the horizon just before sunrise, its light softening and fading like the closing note of a song.

For me, the moonset is more than just a sight—it’s a ritual, a moment of stillness and wonder that reminds me of the beauty and fleeting magic in life. There is a moment I love to try to capture—the moon balanced delicately on the mountains like a child’s ball. Each time I press the shutter, I’m aware of how fleeting the moment is, as if the moon might tumble away at any second.

It wasn’t always this way, though. My mornings, like my life, were once dictated by chaos.

I don’t need to set an alarm. For the past eleven years, I’ve naturally woken up between 4 and 5 a.m. ever since adopting Marley from the rescue. Back then, mornings didn’t come as easily to me as they do now. It felt like I had been thrown back into the role of a bleary-eyed mother to a newborn—except this newborn had four legs and a tail. Marley’s needs weren’t so different from my babies': feed me, let me pee and poop, entertain me, and then, maybe, let me nap.

Those early mornings were chaotic, much like my life as a single mom raising two children and four dogs. Our days were full of noise and movement, a rhythm dictated by the needs of others. The mornings were a whirlwind of bowls clattering, feet pounding up and down stairs, and everyone jockeying for space and attention. But over time, Marley taught me to savor the morning quiet—though not until she’d had her breakfast promptly at 5 a.m. After that, the mornings became mine—a rare time for stillness and reflection.

Eight years ago, longing for a quieter life, we left behind the chaos of our suburban New York existence and moved to the mountains of central New Hampshire. It was a deliberate choice—to trade the constant hum of the Merritt Parkway, the squeal of school buses, and the drone of leaf blowers for a life in tune with the rhythms of nature. Back in the city, even the earliest mornings felt alive with activity. Neighbors would drive off to catch the early train into Manhattan, headlights streaking down the street. The city never truly slept, and neither did its pace.

But here, in the shadow of the mountains, the mornings are different. The air is crisp, the silence deep, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind or the call of a bird. Life feels slower, more deliberate as if the world itself is inviting me to pause and linger. My body wakes as naturally as the sunrise as if it knows I might miss something extraordinary if I sleep any longer. This rhythm has become a part of who I am—a quiet agreement between myself and the early hours of the day. The world still sleeps, but I’m awake, ready to greet it.

A Natural Wake-Up Call

The full moon doesn’t just light up the night—it’s like a silent alarm clock, persistent and unrelenting. When its light streams through my windows, it’s as if someone has flipped on a spotlight, bathing the room in an almost surreal glow. Even as I sleep, the brightness tugs at my eyelids, pulling me awake. It’s my first signal to get ready.

Sometimes, I’ll lie there cocooned in the warmth of my blankets and watch as the moon inches closer to the horizon. I savor those moments. Something is mesmerizing about it, the way it glides silently through the sky, its pale light casting long, faint shadows on the frosted ground outside. But I know better than to dawdle. The moon is fast—faster than it seems—and if I take too long, I’ll miss the magic altogether.

The Ritual of Preparation

Getting ready for these moments is a ritual in itself. On the clearest mornings, the air is biting, often in the single digits, and with the wind chill, it can plunge well below zero. "Suiting up" is an essential part of the process: snow pants, boots, a thick parka, hat, gloves—every layer carefully chosen to combat the brutal cold. The effort it takes to prepare only adds to the anticipation. By the time I’m ready, I’m fully committed, armed against the frigid air, and determined not to let the moonset slip away.

But occasionally, during the warmer months, the conditions align perfectly for me to capture the moon setting behind the mountains with the same breathtaking clarity. These moments are a special kind of joy. I relish the freedom of stepping outside in nothing but my nightgown, camera in hand, as the world begins to wake. Standing barefoot on the deck or with my feet in the dewy grass, I feel an even deeper connection to the earth. There’s no bundling up, no layers to shield me—just me, the fresh air, and the magic unfolding before my eyes.

Out there, whether braving the icy stillness of winter or basking in the gentle warmth of summer, I feel alive in a way that’s hard to describe. It’s as though the world is whispering its secrets to me, and I’m privileged to listen.

Everyone raves about sunsets, but I feel incredibly blessed to have witnessed the quiet beauty of the moon. Those early mornings, when it still hangs high in the sky yet casts just the right angle of light, are magical—the moon's shimmering glow dances upon the lake, its silver reflections rippling gently with the water. Shadows stretch through the forest, weaving intricate patterns that feel otherworldly. The vastness of the sky, the glow of the moon, the way it kisses the horizon before it slips away—a reminder of how wondrous this life truly is. The beauty of the world, even in its harshest or simplest moments, feels like a miracle to me, a gift to be cherished.

The Peace of Mornings

Not many people would willingly set out at this hour, leaving behind the warmth of a cozy bed to face the icy chill of a winter morning. But for me, these early hours are precious. There’s something about the stillness, the way the world feels untouched and new. The mornings when I step outside to meet the moon, even in the harshest conditions, make me feel alive. They connect me to the beauty of this incredible world, reminding me that even in life’s most fleeting moments, there is a wonder to be found.

These moments remind me of how interconnected everything is—how the moon’s steady path across the sky mirrors the quiet rhythms of life. They remind me to pause, breathe, and marvel at the miracle of it all. With its beauty and challenges, this world is nothing short of extraordinary. And every time I step outside to witness it, I’m reminded of just how lucky I am to be alive and to see it unfold.