The moon comes full. All around the world it illumines dark. The lyrics to a lullaby spill into my head, "I see the moon the moon sees me; the moon sees the somebody I’d like to see. God bless the moon, God bless me, and God bless the somebody I’d like to see."
In a far away land it lit up the night sky and little children made wishes,
There is no end to a narrative of love, and having lived in the village of Tskaltsminda whose name mans Holy Water, I just want to seize on a beam and be in the glow of the moon when it illumines the snow on the nearby mountains. Some part of me got left behind and there is no redeeming her. But I just gaze and pray, or wish and send my heart to the heavens. Never can say goodbye…it was a season of 1,000 kisses, a season of love in Georgia.