Moon Palm Oak

Last night I took a few minutes to stand on the balcony, feel the breeze, listen to my various neighbors' wind chimes, and watch the moon. I had a glass of wine, too, which may have helped the mood I was in, during and after all of this. Or not.

The night was comfortable for me, probably around 65 degrees. The breeze was welcome, but tended to lower the temperature to more like 60-not enough to scare me away, but enough to bring an occasional goose bump.

What really brought the goose bumps was the moon, clouds and branches. The moon isn't quite full yet. I believe that comes this Monday. Monday. Moon-day. In French, it really is named after the moon, Lundi. I love that name. I knew a boy in grade school whose last name was Lundy. We weren't friends, but in my mind, whenever his name was said, I heard Moon Boy. (I knew a small amount of French then, from listening to my older sister Pat, who would practice her French homework aloud. I probably knew more then than I know now...)

So I have seriously digressed from my point. Blame it on the moon.

I may have mentioned in previous blogs that I love the sky here (once, twice, or a dozen times). I also love the trees here, especially the ones surrounding my Palm Tree House. If I can ever get a decent digital picture, I'll post it. You really need to see it to understand the places it takes me in my head. The trees in front of my balcony are a mix of Palm and what I believe is a local version of Live Oak. Both are well-decorated by the Southern arboreal treat called Spanish Moss. This time of year, when the Oak branches are full of new leaves and the Palm fronds have reawakened and returned to a healthy green, the Spanish Moss also fills out and takes on a special visual meaning. To me, it means you're really in the South, and you need to go in the kitchen and bake up some BBQ Ribs and Pee-Can Pie. That is, except when I'm in mystic mode like I was last night.

Standing on the balcony with my wine, I was drawn to the edge by the brilliant silver glow of the moon, calling to me in a visual dance with the clouds and branches above me. I stood there watching the moon slide in and out of clouds and peak through the branches. I'm sure it was telling me a story of mystery and spirituality. It probably came clear in my dreams last night, but I don't remember them. Perhaps I will when it is needed.

I stood looking at it with not just my eyes, but with my full imagination. I may just as well have fallen in love with it, I was so entranced. Eventually I decided to look at it without the branches in the way, so I moved about 30 feet down the walkway in front of my neighbor's apartment, where no branches interfere with my view of the sky.

Here, I looked up to see the Moon glowing through a massive thin cloud that was moving across the sky at a brisk pace. Even with the speed it was traveling, it took a good ten minutes to travel all the way across. I observed the cloud and its interaction with Moon, still absorbed and entranced by the mystic nature of the evening. The cloud was enormous, but I noticed that its shape and texture reminded me of a giant ethereal angel fish, especially where the Moon was showing through it. And the Moon itself looked like a negative exposure of the pupil and iris of an eye. If not for the fact that it was in the middle of the fish's back when I noticed it, I would have thought the eye was looking at me, watching me even as I watched it. But then, maybe it was. Who knows for sure how the eyes of a giant ethereal angel fish work. Perhaps instead of moving the fish to point where the eye wants to look, the eye simply repositions itself on the fish where it needs to be for the best view.

Eventually the cloud concluded its journey with the Moon and passed on to its next adventure. As they parted company, though, the Moon made its mark on the cloud. The Moon exited the cloud's cover via what would have been the tail fin of the angel fish, and as it passed through the outer edge, I noticed the cloud's shape lost integrity in the place where the Moon last touched it. Not to worry, though. It's a cloud and clouds are not meant to keep the same shape forever. They are constantly changing, which is one of the things about them that fascinates me. For all I know, by the time the front end of the cloud had passed over my building, it was probably not shaped like at a fish at all anymore, but some other creature that is equally out of place in the sky.

The Moon, now free of its cloudy bonds, shone down brilliantly in a clear sky, so brightly I could not see the stars that I knew were there. I stood there a while longer, silently communing in unknown words, thoughts, emotions, neither knowing what was said, nor what replies were made. When it is time to know, I will know it.