There is no need to tell you, of course, that last night was the Full Wolf Moon, the brightest of the year. Nor to tell you why. It was a well-publicized moon, indeed. I didn't think I would get to see it where I live because of cloud cover, but it was merely hazy, not congested, and so when I walked out of my house in my weakened state and looked over the roofs of the houses across the street, there it was. I grabbed my camera as I always do and walked the neighborhood. I felt better than I had. Perhaps it was only moving, but I had been out earlier in the day and that hurt me rather than helped. I'd prefer to think it was the pull of the moon itself combined with some ocular stimulation, a sort of primitive synergy at work in the reptilian part of my too bad brain. Who knows? There may be no miracles, but that doesn't mean that there aren't mysteries. The world is full of them at the most basic level, that being those things that are as of yet unexplained. I love science and what it does, but I do not wish to be blinded by it into seeing only that part of existence that is revealed by evidence. There are an infinite number of problems of which we have yet to conceive. The best scientists are artists at heart in search of those things you and I have not yet thought of. The worst are mere artisans practicing their craft.
The night was warm, and I walked slowly in shorts and a t-shirt in the shortened steps of a shut-in noticing how lovely the neighborhood was in the night. It is an old neighborhood, not a development, and where I live, that is an oddity. I am a bit of a voyeur as are most photographers, I think, and I gazed into the windows as I passed the houses, feeling the warm light that spilled outside. Stories in every house, lives expanding and contracting like the tide, the old ebb and flood more pronounced with this full moon.
Looking out over the lake, there was the warm breeze and the hooting of owls calling to one another. A mystery. What were they saying? I was certain that it was simply what we all are saying always. "I am here. Here I am."
http://anyfuckingday.blogspot.com/2010/01/cafe-selavy.html
ReplyDeleteI took a ride to Wood Hole that day -- you know the Woods Hole of the Oceanographic Institute. They do way cool marine science stuff down there.
ReplyDeleteComing back (it was gorgeous down there -- bitter cold and whipping winds -- but the seals were out and the Fish Monger Cafe was open for hot chowder. Anyway driving back ---the moon was so low -- so fat -- so pink -- it was stopping traffic -- then I watched it on the water and later when I let the dogs out at 3AM -- it was so white and high and yeah just illuminating the yard.
They should find a way to make moonlight lightbulbs.
Mine was just a big ball of haze, but good to know it was there in the midst of the winter storm, snow everywhere, even a fox trotting up our driveway. Good writing CS, you must be feeling better!
ReplyDeleteZ, Wow! I am flattered. One correction, though. I do write every day. A look at the posts by month in the archives will tell you that. And, I suppose, that is my downfall. But thanks for the props!
ReplyDeleteL, Oh, that sounds so beautiful. It is part of life's joy and frustration that life is going on everywhere all the time at once and we can only have the slimmest slice of it.
R, Winter storms and foxes sound a bit romantic, too. But I am not feeling much better. I haven't left the house but for a moment in days. Soon, though.
i am following your "moons" ...nice photos and thoughts.
ReplyDeletemy favorite experiential moments are pointing my camera at the moon....an idiotic and uncanny response...like being a lizard or jellyfish....i look up in wonder.