Recording a memory

Moments in my childhood are often lost in the folds of my memory. I remember them so suddenly, the clarity of the picture steals the breath from my lips. Things I've forgotten along with things I chose to forget, invoke charged reactions from myself as the adult. I feel like the girl still. These memories push me back into all those long years ago with one sharp inhale and wide eyes. I was there once, wasn't I?
I have a collection of moments as a child of myself running out the front door, full speed ahead, only to be stopped in my tracks. It was always the sky that broke my pace. Once during the harvest moon, when it appeared so large and orange that I thought it'd surely fall into the horizon. I remember how it's presence held me. I was so utterly captivated, under the celestial spell of the most dramatic thing I'd ever seen across the sky. The second time was a moment of perfect balance. I was there at the edge of an awesome raincloud. I could breath the electricity. It moved quickly over the landscape, drowning all below it in heavy raindrops. I held out my arms as it passed above me, one hand wet and the other dry.
The sky has always held my gaze. Many nights I've spent laying next to the window, watching the moon become full and pregnant with sunlight. It's the sense of peace I feel as I trace it's course in the dark. I've been constructing an idea in my head for a while, a tattoo design. I've decided on the moon and a chrysanthemum - superimposed. I sometimes call her mother.