The eve of a full moon (in Leo, my astrological friend, Lisa Zimmerman, says) is a powerful event. Most of the time, a full moon has a bit of an impact on me. Typically, it’s a notice a day or two after the event has passed. “Oh, THAT’S what was going on, that’s why I felt a little agitated.” Or, “That’s where all of that excess energy came from!” At least for me.
My sister, Janet, supports my theory of agitation, too. For her, the evidence is obvious from her days working  in an emergency room. She reported that everyone in the ER knew to be at the ready during a full moon, which would surely bring in more shootings and injuries of all kinds. Now, that’s some agitation. At least I was armed only with my trusty Pilot G2 ballpoint ink pen.
Tonight is the actual full moon. All of that pent up energy was swirling around me last night, though, in unsettling ways. Not get-my-gun ways. More like cry-to-love-song-ways. Falling into bed later, exhausted, did not bring peace. Eventually, I gave it up, got up, and grabbed my G2 (the ink pen) and wrote a poem. About the stupid full moon that wasn’t even full yet.  My fave part was that I found a lovely photo of a full moon over Wyoming by Walter Hawn,  of  The Daily Photograph (TM).
