Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Archive for the tag “moon”

Absolute Lunacy


Solar eclipses seem to garner all the attention, yet lunar eclipses are so much easier to view since no special glasses are needed. The one downside is the lateness of the hour required to experience them.

No problem. I had a plan in place.
I was especially determined to watch this lunar eclipse because a)I only caught one planet out of the six from the previous night planetary alignment and b)this eclipse was purported to be “blood red.” Ooh, intriguing.

I camped out in my office knowing I didn’t want to get too comfortable as I was now on my luney adventure (see what I did there?). I thought I would go to bed around 8 pm and get up at 1 am, when the moon show would be starting. I made a mistake. I started reading The Award and the plot tension got me so wired I stayed up and finished the book, which resulted in a cat nap not the five-hour sleep time originally planned.

1am-ish
Coat on, Uggs on, blanket wrapped I set out.
Just a sliver of dark on the left.
Back to bed reset alarm.

1:45 am
About a half window shade covered the moon.
Too cold to stick around: reset alarm to 3:05

Back to bed. Deep sleep dreaming about watching eclipse woke me up before the alarm.

2:55 am
Back in moon watch mode I peek outside. It’s happening!
It’s so silent. No cars trekking up and down the road. No train whistles blowing through their six crossings. I spot a couple of browsing deer in the neighboring yard grazing. They winkle their ears at me with a “Whatreyoudoingup?” look.

Time to commit. I grab another blanket, position my chair. It’s not easy to avoid the light glare from the nearby parking lot and commercial buildings—so much for the city’s new Night Sky ordinance. I zip up my winter jacket and decide to grab the binoculars–not much of an enhancement, actually.

After setting down a chair cushion (plastic Adirondack chairs are unforgiving at 35 degrees) I observe the moon is now just about covered and the bottom is glowing with just a crack of light, reminding me of the peek of light under the bedroom door when everyone is supposed to be sleeping and someone is reading past their usual bedtime.

The moon wasn’t exactly the touted “blood red”– it’s not even looking like a nocturnal tomato in the sky. It’s more like a shadowy Sunkist orange.

3:23 am
The moon at this point is a dusky peach and according to the moon news, the eclipse is at its maximum.

And so–
How much more of this fabulous night sky event do I want to embrace?

Waiting. Watching. Fairly warm. More waiting. More watching. Still cozy despite fingers freezing from typing my thoughts (because I know I will not remember much in the morning). This camping out reminds me of when I went snow camping in college. I didn’t feel the need to repeat that experience. Cold is cold no matter how many surrounding layers try to convince otherwise.

I do confess of liking a cold bedroom when sleeping. Sitting out in the cold is different than a chilly room with a warm comforter. It’s brisk now–the 34-degree night air is invigorating—for the moment. I could use my old down sleeping bag. Note to self for next eclipse (3 years?)

I’m kind of warm. I’m watching. And getting a little bored of waiting. Time to go in and get a quick snack. It’s not like the moon is going anywhere. Fig bars, applesauce, and quick swig of protein drink later I’m ready for more lunar eclipse experience.

No matter how I settle I am cold. That one-degree dip really is a different story now in comfort because I can’t get comfortable. The moon hasn’t changed much, and the lunar news says the entire process is about 5 hours, meaning by 6 am the show is over. I don’t have another 2 and a half hours in me. I don’t even have two minutes.

I relinquish my moon watch and retreat inside. I shed the Uggs, my coat, my hat, my gloves, and the blankets. I nestle under comforter on the spare bed in my office.

I awake at 5 am and rush outside to see if there is anything left to see, but the moon has slipped near the mountain and is naught but a pale round gleaming behind a veil of cloud.

Epilogue:
I saw the moon and the moon saw me. I tell the hubs all about in the morning as he had wisely stayed in bed asleep.

National Moon Day


Poem of the Month: Moons


I do like moon poems.

image: Morguefile

To the Moon [fragment] by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,—
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

POM: April 17


Moon moths. Couldn’t resist. Or is that the moon looks like a moth?

image:indigoluna.typepad.com

 

Moth Moon by Florence Ripley Mastin

Moth Moon, a-flutter in the lilac tree,

With pollen of the white stars on thy wings,

Oh! would I shared thy flight, thy fantasy,

The aimless beauty of thy brightenings!

A worker, wed to Purpose and Things,

Earth-worn I turn from Day’s sufficiency.

One lethéd hour that duty never brings,

Oh! one dim hour to drift, Moth Moon, with thee!

NPM: #8–the kind moon


The Night Is Still

Edith Matilda Thomas (1854-1925)

The night is still, the moon looks kind,
    The dew hangs jewels in the heath,
An ivy climbs across thy blind,
    And throws a light and misty wreath.

The dew hangs jewels in the heath,
    Buds bloom for which the bee has pined;
I haste along, I quicker breathe,
    The night is still, the moon looks kind.

Buds bloom for which the bee has pined,
    The primrose slips its jealous sheath,
As up the flower-watched path I wind
    And come thy window-ledge beneath.

The primrose slips its jealous sheath,—
    Then open wide that churlish blind,
And kiss me through the ivy wreath!
    The night is still, the moon looks kind.

 

Beyond the rich imagery, there is somthing else noticable about this poem. The lines repeat themselves ever so subtly. This is not a mistake. No, this is art and Thomas reveals her ability to render a lovely villanelle where the first and third lines repeat themselves. Villanelles are tricky, since the poet must repeat the lines to meet the form’s requirements; however, the artist must weave in these lines so they are not obvious.

image: Maryhere/Morguefil

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