The strange thing about living in the city is you can go months without seeing the moon. My only grasp on its phases is when I see a sign at yoga for a full moon class.
I remember I had a student in Harlem once who wrote about the eight stars she had seen in the sky. Eight? I asked. Yes, she said, I counted them. Have you ever seen that many?
Millions, I told her, but she thought I was exaggerating. Really! I said, and she just laughed and laughed like I had just told her I was married to the man on the moon.
This morning, walking up my block, there were stars chalked all over the sidewalk, and a message: THIS IS FOR YOU!!!
I like to think that it truly was.