There are days full of peculiarities, odd moments that make you think there is much more to this life than we can truly understand.
The lunar cycle at the moment is a Waxing Gibbous, 60% full. What I like to call a half moon.
It is as if the moon is made from paper and one of the gods practising his origami has folded it in half. It is a perfect half circle. There are no shimmery, ragged bits the way there are when a child cuts paper circles in half, just one unblemished edge.
I saw the half moon for the first time last night. I did what I used to do when I was a child, imagining that the people who lived on the half moon walked around with their eyes half open or half closed, unable to open them fully until the moon reached her full, complete point of splendour.
I fell asleep, eyes half closed like a spy, and in the morning one half moon after another came into view.
The possums had left mandarin peel on the grass. Orange semicircles in a row. The local graffiti tag team had coloured in the stop sign at the end of the laneway, so it was now a half circle that said : Don’t Stop!
In the cafe there were salads topped with semicircles of bocconcini, fish dishes covered with half circles of lemon, and Neenish tarts, half black, half white.
The lady in the history section at the library was wearing a geometric print of semicircles and lines in orange, black and red. There was a new book on display about patterns in nature with a picture of rocks in a river on the front, shot so that the rocks appeared as if they had been sliced in two.
A group of guys drove past me in an old Falcon, the chassis so low to the ground, their wheels were semicircles skimming the road. A teenager asked me the way to the bank, wearing those groovy half circle sunglasses all the rock stars wore in the ’60s.
At twilight the clouds gathered, sheared in two, gently as egg whites being folded and separated.
The moon rose casting a glow over only one half of the garden. It was a pale silver world, half moonlight, half shadows. I wondered how those in the shadows felt as they gazed out into the half-lit part of their world.
And how did the moon creatures feel, infected with half moon fever? Were they angry? Were they bereft? Did the dark side sleep? Did the light side play? Did they take turns running from side to side? Or did they accept the waxing and waning of the moon as a reminder of the inevitability of change?
I like the half moon. There is a sense of anticipation about it, like a bubble coming from a glass blower’s pipe that is not yet fully formed. I like how it hangs there, Mother Nature’s geometry lesson; an outline waiting to be filled in.
I agree – there’s something geometrically satisfying about the half moon. Mind you, I love a crescent moon and a full moon too 🙂
I love the moon in all it’s beauty and phases.
This story again proves that you can write about absolutely any topic and give it a fresh and innovative spin. Wonderful dear Selma, bravo!!!! 🙂
Oh I love that last line “…an outline waiting to be filled in.” It vibrates with potential, a door half open. And your drifting day/night dream of the half-moon people, so poetic, so prophetic in some ways I think – I wonder how often we all wander with our eyes stuck not fully open…the moon is such a powerful force and symbol, your treatment of it so fresh. Wonderful writing -thanks so much for this!
PUDDOCK – I love all the phases of the moon too. Such a potent force, really. It makes me feel that the world really is mysterious!
GERALDINE – you are far too kind to me. I do appreciate it.
KAYT – I am really driven by the phases of the moon. And I do love it. I saw an exhibition in a local gallery last year and every photo and painting was of the moon in her various guises. It was fantastic. I wanted to buy a splendid photo of the full moon but then I thought it might affect me. I am actually thinking about writing a story about it. Thanks for the lovely feedback.
I wonder I’d fill in…
The moon is one of those mysterious and wonderful things.
I loved it – I love the way you saw everything in a half moon. I will try to take a picture of the half moon for you, but only when it gets warmer, now it is too freaking cold out there! I should send you some of the pictures I took of the full moon a while back ago!
Such lovely original writing.
NAT – I love the moon. I always have. Such power. Such mystery.
TBALL – I would love that so much. You take the best photos. My camera is so hopeless that if I took a shot of the moon it would just be a tiny speck. Only if you feel like it though, hon. Don’t push yourself.
PAUL – great to hear from you, Paul. I really appreciate what from you is a huge compliment. Cheers!
Ah but the question, Selma, is this…
Is the moon half full, or is it half empty?
*Now back to my half glass of beer*
Lovely piece of writing, Selma.
I love your childhood thoughts that the people on the moon had to adjust their eyes. Fun.
BEAR – that is indeed the question. I guess it’s all in the way you look at it. 😉
LAURI – those childhood observations are always fun to remember, aren’t they? Those were the days!!
Beautiful and visually evocative, especially it all being seen from the spy eye.
I have a rude comment I could make about body parts here but I’m not going to do it. Trust me, it isn’t funny.
I really enjoyed this reflection. 🙂
QUERULOUS SQUIRREL – your name is just fabulous. Thanks so much for stopping by. It is amazing what one can see through half-opened eyes!!!
RICHARD – It couldn’t be what my husband did outside the local police station when he was 16 and drunk on apple wine, could it? That would just be uncanny. 😆
JASON – I am so glad. That means a lot to me!