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The blue moon – one definition of which is having two full moons in one calendar month – happens tonight, and won’t happen again until July 31, 2015.  While I will be somewhere tonight watching the moon, I liked the warm-up show that it provided last night on Broadway near the Gothic Theatre.

Denver, Colorado.

Quote of the day: “Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”  ~Buddha

Daily gratitudes:
My super-sparkly disco earrings
A full tank of gas
Giving hope and two dollars to a homeless man this morning
Road trip with Kelsea starting this afternoon
Music nights with MKL

Mixed Company

The poet lies there
As the bright spangle of lightning
Illuminates the words she chewses
About rain sounding like
Bamboo wind chimes.

The homeowner lays wondering
if this will be the time to
tell about leaks
in her new-old roof
And how deep the water is
in the pig run outside her
bedroom window.

The mother lays awake
wondering if her daughter,
miles away,
is wakeful too,
and recalling another storm
where they cuddled together
as the bolts hit too close to home.

The child wishes it could go on forever,
loves it when the thunder rattles the windows
in their panes
And the sea
froths gray.

The abandoned lover remembers
of tropical rains and
being frightened once
by the thunder,
holding her love tight until
her fears passed
with the storm.

I try to sleep
But the bed
Is mighty crowded.

I’m not a morning person and I’m not a good sleeper.  This is not news – no need to alert the media, unless we’d like for it to become an issue for the teabaggers – oops, I mean tea-partiers.  But last night was unusually rough.

Yes, I know, I didn’t go to bed at an early hour, even though I worked 12 hours and was terribly tired.  I got entranced with The Civil War after I got home (see yesterday’s post) and stayed up too late.  I offer myself a Mea Culpa for that.


When I did go to bed, I turned off the light, like a good dog, and went straight to sleep.  For about 3 hours.  At which time, the coyotes who frequently roam the empty field by the Cottage struck a little too close to home.  Like right beside my slightly cracked bedroom window.  I don’t know what they were tussling with, but there were snarls and squeals and growls and excited paw movements that woke me suddenly, leaving me bolt upright and wide-eyed, staring at the black until they ran off towards the Big House.

Of course, that had my heart pumping.  I remember once, when I was little, there was a dogfight outside my bedroom window in the middle of the night.  I will never forget my terror at the idea of two huge fighting dogs plunging through the glass and into my bedroom.  That didn’t happen, but the fear of the fantasy remains.

Since the house next door was broken into and robbed last week, I have been, I think understandably, a little edgy.  I’m glad no one was hurt.  But it brought into sharp focus how isolated I am in the Cottage.  No one can hear me here.  No one can see me here.  So, in the middle of night, the hamster of thievery came to romp in my brain.  And that’s just not a good sleep aid.

But I did not give up.  I was still hopeful that Morpheus would come to cradle me until morning.  I got up to get some water and noticed my forehead hurt.  Odd.  Blinding myself with the bathroom light, I faced the mirror.  And there it was.  True injustice to a woman experiencing sirocco-like hot flashes.  A giant pimple erupting directly in the center of my forehead.

Sigh.  What can you do?  Curse.  Go back to bed.  Speculate on why it hurts like a broken skull.  Imagine that, instead of a pimple, it is actually a horn about to emerge from the bones beneath my skin. 

Don’t laugh.  It happens.  See?

And with that thought I drifted back to sleep for an hour.

Photo title:  Supermoon

Quote of the day: “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.”  —  Ambrose Redmoon

I woke at 1:30 this morning.  The moon was so bright that it was casting huge shadows across my bed. 

For those of you who remember my post about which side of the bed you sleep on, you’ll be interested to know that I’m branching out.  Maybe because my hot flashes are playing like a baby at night.  My bed has grown extra pillows somehow, and when I’m too hot, I find myself throwing off the covers, flinging myself sideways, and using the multitude of pillows as surrogate blankets.  I’m strangely padded by cool sheets and pillowcases until I get too cold, then rearrange myself in a more normal and customary position.

Last night though, when I awoke, I wasn’t unhappy about it – I was just awake.  I sat cross-legged on the bed for a while, letting the shadows play across my skin.  I even tried to take pictures, but I doubt they came out.  It was magical – just me and the moon.  Moonlight must be good for you, just as sunlight is, but in a different way.  It provides you with “yin” energy, which increases serenity and sensitivity.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t spur you too much action.  Which kind of makes sense, since after all, it IS the middle of the night and you ARE supposed to be sleeping.

Of course, Urban Dictionary also defines a moonbath as “farting under the full moon”.  That rather takes some of the bloom off the rose.

I think I’ll stick with my original definition.

Insomnia last night.  Ugh.  Went to bed a little bit late – just before 11:00, but come 3:00 am, I was still awake.  I almost drifted off sometime around 1:00 and I was startled awake by a lone coyote out in the Open Space beside the Cottage.  I think he was separated from the pack.  He was giving these interesting barks – summoning barks, but not the same summoning bark as when a coyote has made a kill.  He went on for a bit, and got the distant dogs in the surrounding neighborhoods going.   Once he stopped, Eagle next door gave out a couple of calls – he is often a companion on my sleepless nights.

Things quieted down, but I was awake, listening to the quiet.  I was thinking about what my new house would sound like, since it’s closer to a street than the Cottage is, and doesn’t have Open Space around it.  It’s been 20 years since I’ve lived in a house that didn’t have a natural wildness next to it.  Pat’s house had the creek on one side, the Cottage has the Open Space, the house in the mountains had, well, mountains (and a stream) by it.  But a house by Open Space that’s close to Kelsea is out of my price range for a little while. 

After I soaked in the quiet for a time, and examined the color of the walls in the dark, the two Great Horned Owls that live in the big pine tree in front of the Cottage started talking to each other.  I have only seen them a few times, and only when they have swooped through the darkness over my head as I’ve been crossing the lawn to the Cottage.  They hooted at each other for a long, long time, clearly conversing.  I wondered what they were saying, and then lay there in the darkness, doing my best to imitate them very softly, and wondering if they could hear me.  I think perhaps they could, because when I got the call to a tone that sounded close to theirs, they were silent for a few minutes.  I don’t know what kind of hearing owls have, but I would expect that it’s pretty good.

At 3:00 am, I turned off the alarm which was set for 7:00.  I cannot function on less than 5 hours sleep without shaking all day.

I did finally sleep.  Sometimes, as I’ve written about before, I feel like a small child, fearful of sleep, because I am fearful of my own dreams.  But last night, I dreamed and dreamed.  I dreamed about my father (in a good way, in a new life), about a house with wood floors, about outdoor showers, about dogs that loved me, about Paris, about a man on a streetcorner cooking me eggs, about finding my way. 

I awoke far too late, having missed kickboxing class, which I made up for by taking a hike.  But I woke up singing.  I got up singing.  I haven’t done that for a long while.

It felt good.

And after feeling bad for what feels like so long, I’m going to enjoy feeling good for as long as it lasts.

Today’s guest poet  —  Babette Deutsch

Natural Law

If you press a stone with your finger,
Sir Isaac Newton observed,
The finger is also
Pressed by the stone.
But can a woman, pressed by memory’s finger,
In the deep night, alone,
Of her softness move
The airy thing
That presses upon her
With the whole weight of love?  This
Sir Isaac said nothing of.

Today’s guest poet —  Amy Lowell

At Night

The wind is singing through the trees to-night,
A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences
And crashing intervals. No summer breeze
Is this, though hot July is at its height,
Gone is her gentler music; with delight
She listens to this booming like the seas,
These elemental, loud necessities
Which call to her to answer their swift might.
Above the tossing trees shines down a star,
Quietly bright; this wild, tumultuous joy
Quickens nor dims its splendour. And my mind,
O Star! is filled with your white light, from far,
So suffer me this one night to enjoy
The freedom of the onward sweeping wind.

August 2022


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