Waxing

Daniel Lynch Waxing Moon 2018

 The wind has picked my chimes up, stirring music into the air.  The grey skies, now blackened, show no new moon or stars.  What gave me light last night, is not there now.  I find that I hold hope for those glimmers at tomorrow's eve.  They hearten me.  And I miss their brightness when they are away.  I became fixed upon their presence while in the land of enchantment.  And yet I readily moved on, to new adventures, new landscapes, knowing that I would yearn for them. And I do.

The dryness of the desert, chafing skin and ridged heels, endless skies replete with constellations— polar opposite to the Northwest’s monsoonal moisture and ever-present gray veil, whose bland wash defiantly declares an opacity that won't lift or shift. Until it does.  A permanent dye upon the land, sea and air finally giving way when we breathe our last breath of acceptance in a moment of surrender to its power.

Landscapes hold their yin and yang longer and today, appear to be establishing regional personalities rather than seasonal affairs ranging from sunshine to rain and in between, smoothly sustaining flora and fauna without stress. 

Droughts and floods, extremes concretizing polarization, bear harm on micro levels.  And that harm telescopes like a bump under linoleum.  Pushing upward, revealing discord in what otherwise could be mistaken for normal.

This shift in reality, the Mandela Effect, now topsy turvy, disrupt our knowing with early budding, late blooming, year round calving and molting.  It is good for the soul to look up.  Way up.  To notice those constellations.  The moon in her cycles.  That is real. Those glimpses through broken clouds lighten the heart.  And we remember. 

Kat

20 April 2018