In between today and tomorrow sit the moon and I, listening.
There’s a slow fire, which aims smoke and light high & away from me. The moon, 2 days past full eclipse, is up and to my left. The sounds: Samantha the outdoor cat, purring and hunting for my lap; a crackle, to amplify the embers in front of me. The odd car driving by at 1am, on grey road 1. They’re local – north to Kemble, or the quiet route home to East Linton, Balmy Beach. I can smell the damp night.
The rest is crickets. It takes a while to figure it, but five are close enough to be specific, then there’s a general cricket frequency beyond that in the fields.
I understand that listening is a responsibility we all share. That it goes beyond listening – to Hearing what lies beneath, without judgement…. and being humble and big enough to be fundamentally altered by it (also awkwardly human enough to remain unchanged, if this be the case). If I cannot listen …and hear…, I know I’m off-track, and need to shift my priorities, (once again).
So many people that I know and love have shared stories, personal history, profound and heart-felt observations with me in these past few weeks – I feel full like the moon was this past Wednesday, and deeply, privately honoured.
I guess I really need to play the Faure Requiem next Saturday in Markdale, for all of us. I guess I do need to say what I think, however quietly, or loudly. I guess I do need the courage to be bald in my frailty, my faults, my failures ….and also my brilliance, which is really Our Brilliance.
We are none of us truly solitary.
Happy Saturday morning to us. And for those (all?) who are sleeping, here’s a picture: fire barely visible, save for the odd spark. Ten crickets now, close. Very distant bullfrogs. No cars.
The moon has travelled ’round to almost face me, and she’s wearing a definite shade of…. apricot.