The Moon Is Full. Apparently That Explains Everything.

I have discovered something extremely useful this morning.

Tonight is the Harvest Moon.

This means I now have something enormous and celestial to blame for absolutely everything.

Forgotten why I opened the fridge? Moon.

Walked upstairs carrying a mug and came back downstairs carrying a hairbrush? Moon.

Found myself standing naked in the kitchen eating grated cheese directly from the packet at an hour when respectable people are apparently doing Saturday properly?

Definitely moon.

Unfortunately, I then made the catastrophic mistake of checking whether the full Moon actually makes human beings behave strangely.

Science has rather spoiled it.

Despite generations of stories about full moons causing everything from sleeplessness to strange behaviour, there isn’t convincing evidence that tonight’s enormous glowing dinner plate is going to turn the household feral. Which feels unfair, because I had already prepared my defence.

It is, however, genuinely the Harvest Moon tonight.

The Moon reaches full phase at 5.49pm today, Saturday 26 September, and because it’s the full Moon closest to Wednesday’s autumn equinox, it gets the Harvest Moon name. Historically, its early-evening light was useful during the harvest.

And I rather love that.

Not the farming bit specifically. I have killed mint. MINT. The plant everybody tells you is basically indestructible.

It’s the idea of noticing the sky.

We spend so much of family life looking down.

Down at washing.

Down at something somebody has dropped.

Down at phones.

Down the back of the sofa because apparently that’s where civilisation stores its loose change, charging cables and one solitary crisp that has achieved archaeological status.

Then occasionally nature puts something enormous above our heads and essentially says:

Oi. Look up.

So that’s my Saturday-night plan.

Nothing grand. No expedition. No carefully curated wholesome-family experience requiring seventeen pounds’ worth of craft materials and an adult quietly losing the will to live.

Just outside.

Tonight in North Wales we’re only getting a shade under twelve hours of daylight now; sunset is around 7pm.  The Moon will rise around dusk, although the exact time varies with location and your horizon, so the trick is simply to look east after sunset.

That’s wonderfully achievable.

Blanket. Something warm to drink. Back garden.

Clothes entirely optional because, well, you’ve met us.

There is something lovely about naturism at home at this time of year. Summer makes nakedness easy. Autumn makes it intentional.

You wander outside and immediately discover which parts of you have noticed September before your brain has.

Then you either stay because the air feels incredible, grab a blanket, or retreat indoors announcing, “Nope!” with extraordinary conviction.

All three are legitimate forms of nature appreciation.

And perhaps that’s what I want from this weekend.

Not another thing to organise.

Not another place we need to be.

Not another photograph proving we had a lovely time.

Just ten minutes when everybody stops doing whatever ridiculous thing they’re doing and looks upwards together.

The Harvest Moon doesn’t need tickets.

It doesn’t care whether the house is tidy.

It doesn’t care what anybody is wearing.

And, unless my research has badly failed me, it won’t judge me for eating grated cheese from the packet either.

Although if I turn into a werewolf later, I reserve the right to withdraw that statement.

When did you last stop whatever you were doing, go outside and simply look up?