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Moon rise, Groundhog night. The lake is frozen. Our lodge is just a few yards from the lake. Those are ancient hills in the distance, which have antediluvian mountain memories. Trees are barren, but hopeful. The wind is still; the air is dry and brittle. I balance my camera on a rail post at the edge of the deck, trying to capture the moon.

Pam had seen the moon first. She challenged me to try to capture it. Not just for her, but for the group. For all of us gathered in the goddess' name. For all of us gathered to honor the sky father, earth mother, soul sister, heart brother.

Here it is, groundhog moon. This is when the groundhog truly hunts; she has no need of the bold sun. More for her is the subtle moon. I could only share her moon. I confess it was patience and perseverence, not subtly, which snared me this moon.