I was reading yesterday, distracted by my dog’s dreaming, kicking paws next to me, noticing the light at its low high for the day, the mountains bright in the cold clearness of its shine. I checked the temperature and it was 4f. When it gets this cold it feels like time and air and everything becomes slowed along with it—a pulse slowing, a river moving into the stillness of ice. I noticed it last night too—the stillness heavier, more solidly night—like black molten glass cooling, settling.
A tree was removed from the corner of my yard this past fall, a situation I didn't know was happening until I arrived home and it was gone. It was quite a shock. Immediately I noticed how the light changed, and how it is a little different every day because every day is just a little different. It still makes me sad, but I also find it interesting. Interesting to still see that wonderful tree in its glaring absence.
Finally, the moon is high and bright here tonight too, and Jupiter, as Nia pointed out to me earlier to look for.
I love how you framed that and now cannot unsee the glaring absence as still a part of the presence of those trees. Thank you for that. It's so true. 💜
“The whole world is a work of art.” It’s so true and it’s often the only thing that can make the grief of the same world remotely bearable.
I’ve been having a lot of regular moon observing and appreciating experiences the last few months, too, though at this time of year it’s overcast so often it’s not always visible. It’s there tonight, though. First thing I looked for when I came home from a long drive 💙
I love that--and yes, the art and the grief feel like two sides of a dodecahedron coin. There's a children's book Owl at Home by Arnold Lobel--the author of Frog and Toad--that I always loved--and in one story, owl is walking home at night and is first annoyed by the moon and tries to tell the moon to stop following him but as he continues he realizes the moon is keeping him company and he looks up and cries out "Moon! What a good round friend you are!" I can't not think about it when I see the full moon glowing strongly in the night, and may happen to quietly say it to myself from time to time... (ahem). Love that you looked for it too. 💜
Thank you for the mentions, friend. 🙏🏽
A tree was removed from the corner of my yard this past fall, a situation I didn't know was happening until I arrived home and it was gone. It was quite a shock. Immediately I noticed how the light changed, and how it is a little different every day because every day is just a little different. It still makes me sad, but I also find it interesting. Interesting to still see that wonderful tree in its glaring absence.
Finally, the moon is high and bright here tonight too, and Jupiter, as Nia pointed out to me earlier to look for.
I love how you framed that and now cannot unsee the glaring absence as still a part of the presence of those trees. Thank you for that. It's so true. 💜
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“The whole world is a work of art.” It’s so true and it’s often the only thing that can make the grief of the same world remotely bearable.
I’ve been having a lot of regular moon observing and appreciating experiences the last few months, too, though at this time of year it’s overcast so often it’s not always visible. It’s there tonight, though. First thing I looked for when I came home from a long drive 💙
I love that--and yes, the art and the grief feel like two sides of a dodecahedron coin. There's a children's book Owl at Home by Arnold Lobel--the author of Frog and Toad--that I always loved--and in one story, owl is walking home at night and is first annoyed by the moon and tries to tell the moon to stop following him but as he continues he realizes the moon is keeping him company and he looks up and cries out "Moon! What a good round friend you are!" I can't not think about it when I see the full moon glowing strongly in the night, and may happen to quietly say it to myself from time to time... (ahem). Love that you looked for it too. 💜