Summer Solstice Moon
The super moon has come and gone, the moon only its normal lunarity tonight. Deciding that each moon at perigee is a super moon strains the adjective too far. The marginally larger and closer moon would be truer.
The lead up to the super moon did reignite my never far dormant moon watching passion. This Japanese ritual seems very well suited to life’s third phase. Quiet, dignified, can be done without glasses at home. No money changes hands. A glass of tea, or a shot of single malt, a beer. Some cheese and the moon beside us on the deck.
As our closest neighbor in the overwhelming emptiness that is our universe, the moon has a special place, a unique place in our lives. It illumines the night, goes through its phases each lunar month, defining tides and creating romantic moments.
I’m finding it hard to describe why the moon fascinates me so much. Not about astronomy. Or moon walks. Something about its floating, silvery presence. A silent partner to the dark its moods changes with the seasons. The floating harvest moon, round and large and orange differs from the white full moon that passes through the cold skies of the winter solstice time. The moon of the summer can preside over long evenings outside, a dim lantern providing just the right amount of just the right kind of light.
It also figures in story and myth. The goddess Diana and her crescent moon, which appears in so many portraits of the virgin mary, especially our Lady of Guadalupe. Lon Chaney’s version of the Wolfman: “Even a man who is pure at heart, and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”
Not quite getting there and I’m tired. Will try again soon.
