Benjie and I walk through our little farmers’ market, previewing each stand before making our purchases. There is a music booth at the corner, where a different solo musician is stationed each week. As we approach that corner, Benjie ducks behind me and tangles his arms around my legs. Though likely dressed down from what she might wear at a club gig, the guitar player’s outfit is drawn from the same wardrobe. She is not dressed for sex appeal, but enough of the elements are present that my five year old recognizes something is happening and it makes him blush.
“Who are you hiding from?” I tease.
“I don’t know,” he answers.
The moon, waning one day past full, is rising behind the Starbucks across the street. This doesn’t feel right. Last night at around this time, it was shining bright through my bedroom window keeping me awake. That window faces east and — I’m hesitating here while I get my bearings — I’m facing south. Santa Clara takes a bend somewhere between here and home, but that (plus the daily shift in the moon’s course as the Earth’s rotation overtakes — or falls behind — the moon’s revolution) doesn’t seem like it’s enough of a shift to explain the difference between the positions of yesterday’s and today’s moons.
I lost my sense of direction when I moved to the Bay Area. When tasked with knowing what direction I’m going, I must turn my body so that the hills are to my right and The Bay to my left, so that I’m facing north. Then I’m able to draw the other compass points in my head.
It may be the Bay Bridge’s fault. In my head, it runs parallel to the Golden Gate Bridge.
It seems now that the moon is actually setting. I’m having trouble even with up and down.
These were a surprise last spring. They weren’t planted intentionally, but came up after we regraded the garden. I let them grow where they’d landed, but they got a little to much sun. In the fall, I dug up their bulbs and moved them under the lemon tree. I later rethought their placement and moved them again. Now they’re coming up in all three spots. This one, under the lemon tree, is the first to bloom.