The Light Before the Dawn
A Weekend Beneath the Crescent Moon
This weekend, I plan to wake up before the sun. Not because I have to, but because something in me always feels the need to when I am excited to see the morning sky and the moon in its current phase. Do you know that feeling? Like the sky is calling your name, and if you don’t answer, you’ll miss something sacred.
Thursday morning, I stepped outside into the quiet. The kind of quiet that only exists before the world wakes up. Above the eastern horizon, Venus was blazing, so bright it almost felt alive. Jupiter hovered nearby, regal and steady. And just below them, a sliver of the Moon curved like a whispered promise.
Mercury was there too, tucked close to the horizon, near the Beehive Cluster in Cancer. I couldn’t see the cluster with my naked eye, but I knew it was there, like a hidden treasure only revealed to those who seek.
I stood there in the stillness, watching light emerge from darkness. And I thought of this verse:
“His mercies are new every morning.”
— Lamentations 3:23
It’s easy to forget that the sky is always speaking. Not in words, but in wonder. Venus, the morning star, reminds me of hope. Jupiter, of strength. The Moon, of renewal. And Mercury, swift and elusive, of the fleeting nature of time.
This waning crescent phase feels symbolic. A letting go. A quiet surrender before the new moon begins. I’ve been carrying a lot lately, projects, dreams, questions I don’t have answers to. But under that fragile curve of moonlight, I can always feel invited to release it all.
Saturday and Sunday will bring more of this celestial dance. The Moon will fade further, slipping into invisibility before its rebirth. Venus will continue to rise early, a faithful companion to those who rise with her. And if you’re lucky, you might catch Mercury just before dawn, reminding you that even the smallest light has its place.
So here’s my invitation:
Wake up early. Step outside. Let the sky speak to you.
You don’t need a telescope. Just a heart willing to listen.
Because sometimes, the most profound revelations come not in thunder, but in the quiet shimmer of stars.
Until next time, keep looking up!
-g
You captured that quiet magic of early mornings so well. There’s something about stepping outside before anyone else is awake, when the air is still and the sky feels almost personal, that always makes me feel both small and deeply connected to everything. I love how you described each planet and what they represent to you. It’s easy to forget how much comfort and perspective the sky can offer if we just take a moment to notice. Thank you for sharing this, it’s a gentle reminder to slow down, look up, and let wonder in.