There, shining in the distance, we saw it.
The blue moon peered through the clouds over Edinburgh Castle like a Celtic goddess, gracing us with her light. Sintra had returned to us! She had missed us so much that she came back one more time just for us. We stood there on the rooftop bar of Johnny Walker, overlooking the city, sipping an old Oban, and taking in the beauty of the moment. After a few minutes, the moon rose into cloudy obscurity, only a faint memory of its light remaining in the Scottish sky. It felt gentle and mysterious, like a soft kiss in the dark.
And just like that, it was gone.
It was our last real night in Edinburgh. The next day and night would be spent resting easy and preparing for our early morning the flights the day after that.
“I’m gonna miss you,” my dad said, still staring into the sky.
“Oh, dad!” I laughed, giving him a hug.
His eyes had moistened a few times already that night, his tear ducts loosened by the liquor.
The moon would end up following us to the airport two days later. She just hung there, engorged in the sky, an omen of momentous things to come. We barely had time to take her in, so swept up were we with our own timeliness.
Our parting happened matter-of-factly. We had already had some more emotional heart-to-heart stuff the evening before. Now we were just in airplane-mode.
“Thanks for everything Dad! I’m hope you enjoyed this,” I told him.
He shook my hand.
“Safe travels. Don’t be stupid,” he told me
“Good luck!” I nodded, raising two fingers.
And then I turned my back and walked away.
The moon would follow me to Warsaw.
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