There's something about the change in weather that incites my wandering imagination. Fortunately, the crisper days also energise me to do what I have to do to get ready to travel. I was doing these same things last year at this time—washing curtains, windows, walls, and cabinets; packing away personal effects to put into storage while I sublet my apartment for the winter—unaware that a careless driver would disrupt my plans and give me a different kind of experience than I'd anticipated. This year I'll be hyper-vigilant crossing the street as my departure date approaches.
The rising of the Full Sturgeon Moon (so-called because it was observed to coincide with an abundance of sturgeon in the Great Lakes) was not visible from my balcony. But it was from the rooftop terrace. It's so easy to fall in love with the sky when you have a chance to watch it at any time and see spectacular sunsets, all kinds of cloud formations, magnificent electrical storms, migrating birds who fly by, almost casually, at eye-level, and a moon that goes through its phases, each time growing full under an evocative new name. (For those who love the moon, here's an article on the origin and meanings of the names given to the full moon in northeastern north america.)
Since this civilised world appears to be tearing itself to shreds in what was described long ago by Thomas Hobbes as a bellum omnium contra omnes, a war of all against all (pdf), it's probably a good idea to explore other ways of living. There are many good examples, but you have to get out of the belly of the beast to experience them. I'm working to do that well before the Full Beaver Moon (November 14). As the beaver prepares to face winter, so do I.