It's still dark when I go out to jog. I slip out the side door and make my way past a mix of sage brush, juniper, pinyon pines, and saltberry, through a gate by the head of the driveway, hoping none of the cats try to follow me. Because we live in the boondocks, the stars are always spectacular and I have to be careful not to trip and break my neck as I stare up in wonder. Recently, it was lighter than usual due to the full moon, and as I peered up at it I could see a huge, wide halo around it, a perfect circle of light way out, probably hundreds of miles, from the moon itself. It was mesmerizing.
Such a halo is apparently caused by refraction through ice crystals in the atmosphere. As I jogged along I kept glancing up at it. I couldn't help but smile, it was such a beautiful sight to behold. Toward the end of my route, as I turned up the hill headed right at the moon, the sky had blued to the point that the halo was no longer there.
It was a simple thing, a natural phenomenon, but it struck a chord in me, like a Schubert melody or a western bluebird.

Ain't life grand?!