Tag Archives: the moon

December lights and colors.

We still haven’t had a frosty night here, and there are none in the forecast, so many of my plants are still blooming. Indoors, it seems the Thanksgiving cactus flowers are on the wane, and the Christmas ones haven’t opened. Though when I got my hair cut the other day, my hairdresser’s two Thanksgiving cactuses were blooming away, in a western window.

I found mealybugs on my orchids, I suppose because they lived out on the patio all summer, where anything could invade. But overall they are healthier for their summer outdoors, because it was easier to water and feed them. Also an inchworm chewed up a patch of leaf before I saw what was happening. I got some neem oil therapy, and new orchid bark in which to repot all the orchids, but don’t think I’ll manage to do that whole job until January, some sunny day.

Other things are more hardy and less insect-prone out of doors:

Last week at the full moon, we had nearly clear skies, so I took another moon picture from my driveway. The moon was noticeably more northerly from its summertime position, when I have more often been out there looking. I liked getting some of the Christmas lights of the neighborhood in the picture.

I ordered a lighted star to put in my upstairs window that faces the street, something like what I used to have 8-10 years ago, but now they cost three times or more as much. And this week a friend is helping me to get a cut tree in town, which I will keep in water in the garage temporarily. With the help of my grandchildren when they arrive, we should be well decorated by Christmas Eve.

2014

 

In her silver shoon.

SILVER

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

-Walter de la Mare

Paul Sandby, Moonlight on a River, 1800

 

Her Perfect Face

A few weeks ago when I ran across this poem, I scheduled it to publish this evening, when the moon is nearly full. But I didn’t know that I would be driving home from Vespers at 6:30 and along that road where it’s happened before that I found the moon rising huge and golden right in front of me; if only  could lift off at a slight angle from the pavement, I could drive right up and park on it. But instead, I admired her perfect face for a few timeless moments…. and then I was home!

THE MOON

The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.

-Emily Dickinson

Winslow Homer, Moonlight