Member-only story
Poetry
Beaver Moon
cold and clear
the moon nibbles
its way across
the night eating
at the remnants
of November bright
enough to be
a loud slap
in the face
without any clouds
to buffer its
sign of alarm
its call to
memory I feel
the signal in
my body
a private advent
come early this year
Awake, arise, revive
in the radiant
revelation that travels
across time to
arrive here, perfect
and ready to
burrow down in
the solace
of home
Who got up to watch the eclipse? (Not me, but I considered it.)
I’ve always loved the full moon, and the night sky in general, but reading Mary Oliver’s Twelve Moons a few years ago opened a bright new door. I’ve been obsessed with the old names for the moons ever since, and made a project to write about each one for a year. . . which I completed but of course can’t let go. Farmer’s Almanac online is so much fun, for the moons and beyond.
Thank you for reading!
