The Measure of a Moment

Some nights arrive unannounced, carrying the kind of serendipity that lingers long after the dawn. Under September’s nearly full moon, I found myself in one of those rare hours — a night of quiet skies, cricket song, and unhurried conversation. What began as simple presence stretched into something more: a meditation on time, on love, on how vast even the smallest moment can feel when we are fully in it. From that stillness, I drew a lyrical echo, a smaller poem that keeps the same truth in softer rhythm.

Moonlit Measure
In ninety seconds, the heart can know,
the quiet the moon and the crickets bestow.
No need for tomorrow, no weight of before,
a moment expands — and asks for no more.

The Measure of a Moment

 Last night, under September’s near-full moon,
I found myself in the rare gift of unhurried hours.
The sky opened wide, the air cooled,
crickets stitched their song into the dark—
and I sat in conversation with one of the loves of my life.

We wandered through philosophy, through gods and existence,
through all the swirling questions that make us pause and smile.
At one point, he told me: a moment, by definition, is 90 seconds.
Ninety seconds— longer than a breath, shorter than a dream.
And yet, how vast a moment can feel
when you are fully in it.

Nothing was planned, no conditions were set.
We simply stayed awake until night became morning,
and in that serendipity, I was reminded:
peace often asks for nothing more
than our presence.

Not a grasping, not a performance—
just the simple joy of being,
of letting time move like water,
and allowing the soul to drink.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai