Hippie Canyon Vintage Voicings: Full Moon/Dark Star

A full moon in Topanga is exquisite. I can't imagine the moon being more beautiful anywhere else.

Last night it was round, and full, and yellow; a midnight sun, bobbing in the air like a pat of butter.

April. The air is still crisp at night. The sky is midnight blue, full of stars. The ocean breeze carries a slight fog in. The frogs croak everywhere, and crickets chirp. The bushes rustle...the hills are alive.

I drink tequila with Melinda at the Mexican restaurant. The place is packed on a Monday night, which is kind of weird. Loud men at the bar. They appear to be lumberjacks. There's a lot of flannel and mustaches, and not in an ironic kind of way; they mean it. They smell like cigarettes and gasoline, and swig beers like men; proudly. They cluster, man-like, around the bar as a brigade.

Melinda and I make little small talk. We drink tequila, and cut to the chase. We tell it like it is. We see the big picture, or at least, we try to.

Melinda tells me about the Dark Stars, which apparently can swallow you whole, or your entire planet or galaxy. It could have already happened. I could be sitting here, but not really.

I scrape my leftovers (and Melinda's) into a to-go container, and use my straw to suck the last remnants from my salty-sweet glass.

We walk outside into the night. Bright, bright moon, jasmine-scented air, the night abuzz and fertile, swathing us in moon-glow, wrapping us in a protective white blanket of light.

The beautiful moon is here right now, in this moment, as I am here perceiving it.

Unless it and I have been destroyed by a Dark Star, and we just don't know it yet.