Under a Gilded Moon

by Joy Jordan-Lake

If the meek could inherit the earth, maybe the kind could capture the truth.

Maybe, she thought, grown-up life was not so much finding your perfect place in the world, but aching for all the faraway places and people you loved—and learning to look at right where you are now, as Rema would say, through a long eyepiece of grateful.

There’s days for wings like eagles, but most of life’s just the walking and trying not to faint facedown in the mud.”

The November skies were a dark, menacing pewter. But she’d always loved November, the way the bare limbs of the trees opened up views that couldn’t be seen in the warmer months. Opened up secrets.