Full Moon in Pisces

As the last of the summer corn swells inside its husk, it can look like nothing much is happening. But beneath the surface, there is a ripening. This Full Moon carries a similar current. On September 7th, the Moon will reach its fullness in Pisces and bring with it a lunar eclipse, a turning point that invites us inward more than outward.

Folklore has long marked full moons as moments of heightened energy. Farmers watched their crops under the bright light and timed harvests to the lunar pull. Healers worked with its cycles to guide planting, pruning, or brewing remedies, believing that herbs gathered at the full carried the moon’s fullness into their medicine. In Pisces, a water sign tied to intuition and dreams, this moon often speaks to the parts of us that live below the surface, just like the hidden growth in the fields.

From a more scientific lens, the full moon is simply the Earth aligned between the Sun and Moon, with the lunar face fully illuminated. Yet even here, cycles matter. Gravitational pull subtly influences tides in both water and biology. Many studies have explored shifts in sleep, mood, and even hospital admissions around the full moon, with mixed results, but enough patterns to remind us that we are also bodies of water, attuned to rhythms bigger than us.

An eclipse deepens this story. During a lunar eclipse, Earth casts its shadow across the Moon. In folklore, this was often seen as a moment of pause, when the ordinary flow of energy is briefly interrupted. In astrology, eclipses mark thresholds, moments when the usual clarity of the full moon turns inward, asking us to reflect, reset, and realign.

This Full Moon in Pisces arrives as summer wanes, a reminder to honor what has been ripening within. It asks us to notice what is changing beneath the surface, to let intuition and imagination guide our reflection. It's about listening, gestating, and preparing for the next turn of the season.

Here on the coast, as tides move higher and nights stretch longer, this moon feels like a mirror. What looks still on the surface often carries great activity beneath. The work of ripening, both in fields and in ourselves, is sacred in its quietness.