The exact moon featured in Pratt’s Tale. Photo by Sheila Pratt

WOODLAND, CA (MPG) – Growing up alongside four brothers, the great outdoors was less of a destination and more of a second home. Amidst the cheerful chaos of a large family, I quickly learned to cherish the deep solitude and grounding that only nature can provide. It became my anchor. When I had children of my own, I knew I wanted to pass down that same inheritance of wonder. Every summer, we packed up our gear and went camping with friends, weaving memories of shared experiences beneath the canopy of the trees. Today, one of my greatest joys is watching my own children carry on this tradition, taking their little ones out to sleep under the very same stars.

As the years rolled on, I found myself deeply missing those immersive outdoor experiences. To fill that void, I discovered a volunteer opportunity at Camp Ritchie, a summer camp nestled high in the mountains of the El Dorado National Forest. For one week every year, I get to step back into that world, helping young women aged 12 to 18 push past their comfort zones. I watch them leap into the crisp waters of the lake, steady their hands at the archery range and axe throwing, and conquer their fears while rappelling down sheer rock faces. They learn the practicalities of outdoor survival, from basic first aid to the rustic art of campfire cooking. It is exhausting, rewarding work, but it also gifts me precious pockets of solitude.

It was during one of those rare moments of downtime late in the afternoon that I decided to steal away for a walk. Seeking a bit of quiet reflection, I stumbled upon a faint, narrow path winding its way up a fairly steep mountainside. In hindsight, it was almost certainly a deer trail rather than a designated hiking route, but its wildness only added to its charm.

As I climbed higher, the world below began to shrink, and the terrain changed dramatically. The dense forest gave way to a sparser, rugged landscape. The vibrant summer wildflowers had passed their prime, turning crispy and golden at the edges, and the ground beneath my feet grew increasingly rocky. Eventually, the trail opened up to a spectacular, unobstructed vista. I found a smooth, sun-warmed ledge of granite and sat down, positioned to watch the sky.

What followed was an extraordinary display of atmospheric theater. The heavens ignited in an array of majesty that only Mother Nature could pull off, a breathtaking canvas of deep pinks and purples, fiery oranges, and brilliant reds. I sat transfixed, lost in the sheer scale of the beauty before me.

But the mountains have a way of shifting realities in the blink of an eye. As I sat gawking at the final, fading embers of the sunset, a sudden chill pierced through me. The temperature dropped, and the vibrant colors collapsed into a heavy, suffocating darkness. Night falls with startling speed at high altitudes, and within minutes, my peaceful afternoon stroll had transformed into a backcountry night hike, one for which I was entirely unprepared. I had no jacket to stave off the hadn’t even brought my phone. I was stranded on a rocky slope in total pitch blackness.

In the mountains, darkness is not merely the absence of light; it is a heavy, physical presence. I knew that attempting to navigate a steep, rocky deer trail in the dark was a recipe for disaster. Then, a memory surfaced: the previous night, the moon had been nearly full. If I stayed put and kept my head, the moon would eventually rise to illuminate my path.

So, I sat tight on my granite perch which was still warm from the day sun, wrapped my arms around myself, and listened. In the absolute stillness, the mountain came alive with night noises. Crickets chirped in a rhythmic, steady chorus and the distant, hooting of an owl echoed through the canyon. Sitting there, I began to think about how seamlessly nature works together. The trees exhale the air we breathe; the roots hold the rocky mountainside stable beneath me; the nocturnal creatures step forward to play their part the moment the daytime world retreats. Every element relies on the other in a perfect choreography.

My thoughts drifted to the sun itself. I realized that the sun’s warmth and light never truly leave us; they are constant fixtures in the universe. The sun doesn’t just cease to exist when night falls; rather, it is we who turn our backs to it once a day as the earth rotates. Even in our darkest hours, when we are turned completely away from its direct heat, the cosmos provides a reminder of its permanence. It reflects its light back to us through the stars and the moon, serving as a quiet celestial whisper that we are never truly alone. Daylight is always coming, if only we can manage to hold tight a little longer.

Right on cue, the earth rotated toward a magnificent, massive harvest moon, which broke over the ridge and flooded the landscape with a brilliant, silver glow. The rocky path danced back into my view. With my way finally illuminated, I carefully navigated my way down the mountain and back toward the safety of Camp Ritchie where I was met by a few relieved faces who had been actively out looking for me.

That night on the mountain stayed with me. Wherever you find a light that brings you hope; whether it is the warmth reflected in the eyes of a trusted friend, the pure joy of a cherished grandchild, or the safety of a welcoming community, hold fast to it. Life has a way of throwing us into unexpected seasons of shadow. There will inevitably be dark nights where we find ourselves lost on a metaphorical mountaintop, shivering and searching for a way down. It is in those exact moments that we must rely on our inner reservoirs of light to see us through. My advice is simple: stock up on light wherever and whenever you find it and share it with those who need it.