Full Cold Moon Redux

Tonight, driving to a party just past dusk, the highway lit up by the moon.  It  filled the sky in front of me, too early yet for stars.  What was it's name?  I could not think.  I thought through them, Harvest, Hunter's, Beaver, Snow. . . .  At the party, I asked around.  People looked at me as if I were touched.  Who thinks of moon names?

I was the first one to arrive, so I got to be the first to leave.  Who has a party on a Monday night?  The evening was cold and clear and so bright.  Home, I Googled it right away.  Full Cold Moon.  Of course!  But I only write about them once a year and it is getting harder to remember.

I am tired as I often am nights now.  I don't want to be.  I think I shall never have a girl if I am tired.  It is the time of year when I think of one in particular.  She was a baby when we met and love was too complicated.  But I never seem to get over it.  She is. . . what. . . thirty-three now, I think.  When I stepped out of the car, I heard an owl's cry.  Christmas lights and a full moon and an owl and all the old longing for her came rushing back again.  I guess I was thinking of her earlier in the evening.  I was in a part of town I never go, and I had driven near where she lived then with her mother.  Oh, Jesus, could I love.  I was the world's best lover then.  And tonight I want it all back.  I want to feel that in my heart and in my arms.  Maybe she will visit her mother, and maybe I shall run into her.  Perhaps she'll call.

I shouldn't think that way and won't let myself do it again.  But stepping out of the car tonight into the sweet night's air lit by a Full Cold Moon and serenaded by an owl. . . .  But the moon is far away tonight, the smallest moon of the year reaching its apex as distant as it can get.  A cold, distant moon on a crisp night and an old, romantic's heart.

Queen Mab shall visit me tonight.