The full moon is rising behind a huge horse chestnut tree. When I first saw it, it was mostly obscured by the tree, but then I started to see sun-colored sparks and sparkles through the tree in random patterns, and I couldn't make sense of that. Then I realized it was the wind, moving the leaves around and letting the moonlight through.
It's like watching coals glowing in a campfire, or a sequinned dress moving over a rippling belly.
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This is the third day in a row I have sat at this window at this time of day, and every day the moon is lower and rounder. I love how it does same dance with the sun every month: they start together, pull away, and then find each other again. Separate, but connected.
We walked along the asphalt trail under the buzzing power lines, and then down a softer path mowed into the fields of deep green, chest-high grass. It took us through secret shady tree tunnels, past thimbleberries covered in loose white flowers and bushes with weird yellow fruits, each of which had a little claw, and then to mountains and mountains of rugosa roses. They were taller than us, massed into long, deep hedges, covered in toothy green leaves and sharp thorns and a thousand thousand pink and white flowers, and absolutely full of bees. There were compact golden honeybees and fat, fuzzy black bumbles and one massive bumble with a fancy orange butt, all rolling and diving in the brilliant, hot sunlight, and our mouths were full of the smell of roses.
The road was a empty black ribbon on a broad, sage-green plain that rose up into sage-green hills, massive and rolling and convoluted and soft-looking, like skin. A long yellow freight train snaked along next to the road, and then the train and I were racing each other, hurtling towards towards home and the river, while dark cloud-shadows slid silently across all that vast soft greenness.
The sky is so big, and there are cloud shadows rushing along the soft green skin of the huge, low hills.
The garden was full of borage and the borage was full of bees, all black and golden and electric purple.
We dug our toes into the river sand and watched the waves curl up on the beach at a perfectly precise angle, and then we flopped down and laid in the sand and looked up at the giant alien trees and listened to their leaves and got sand down our pants.
I looked up and the neighbor's house was painted deep gold with sudden sunset light.
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AuthorBitter Water
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Archives
June 2019
Categories© Francie Nevill and Every Sweet Thing, 2017.
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