Blue Moon

“Blue Moon” not yet finished

For once it was Jon who slept while I wandered the house, overcome by the feelings of sadness and loss that  seem to come with being human.

I took my tea and sat on the stone steps behind the house  in the almost bluemoon light.  I knew she would come, not Minnie, but Mother the barn cat.  Always hanging around, but completely dependable at night time. My back to the moon she wrapped herself around my legs a constant purr that kept time with the crickets and tree frogs. I watched the shadows in front of me.  Me and Mother, the trees on the barns, the long fence lines, each stone step just a thin edge of light, and the moths fluttering over me on their way to the moon.   I listened to the owls call back and forth to each other, more of a bark than a who.  (I am I am).  And as my heart joined the rhythm of the night sounds I saw the twinkling of the red star.  Orange, red than tangerine and I realized it was flashing it’s  colors to the beat of my heart, or the other way around, and I knew I belonged.

I sipped my tea and the sadness fell away.  Then I smelled skunk and felt the chill of 4am.  Connected by all my senses to the blue night surrounding me, I went back to the house laying my cool body next to the warmth of my lover.

25 thoughts on “Blue Moon

  1. I really loved this post, Maria. I felt every emotion you conveyed. Your posts are transitioning once again, and it’s really something to watch. I’m so glad that you are comfortable enough to share it all with your readers.

  2. Sounds like a beautiful way to greet the coming morning…..but I have to say you gave me a little tingle when you ended it with the warmth of your lover….beautiful.

  3. A lovely piece Maria….both created and written.

    Thanks for sharing your experience with that, all too human, sense of sadness and loss. Not that I want you to have it, but that in your sharing we can resonate with your way out of it…through the portal of creativity.

    Interesting to know that it is Mother that joins you…the seemingly ruthless one…perhaps in her deep connection to her feline nature, her truth in who she is she embodies the authenticity that so many of us crave.

    I am glad that your sadness fell away….and as for the skunk at
    4 a.m., been there, done that with peroxide, dish soap, and water on the dogs! Egad.

  4. This is beautiful, Maria. I can’t tell you how many times I have been up and 3 or 4am and felt the same way, you have just come up with the most wonderful way of describing it. Thanks for sharing.

  5. Beautiful. Lovely. Your writing catches the essence of what this early morning felt like to me as well. Thank you Maria!

  6. Maria, this is beautiful. Very touching and I was right there with you feeling it too.

    I love this piece, is it spoken for?

  7. Beautiful! With your words, I will strive to be more accepting of “the feelings of sadness and loss that seem to come with being human.” Thank you Maria.

  8. All the other responses to your post are so eloquent, Maria, that I feel a bit inadequate expressing my feelings . . . but I have been in that place you speak of and it’s nice to know that others have also. It’s all good. You have really blossomed!

  9. I thought I wasn’t connected to your blog, then I stumbled on it by accidently opening my “mail” symbol and there you were talking about the moon.
    I wanted to share with you that I had a bed made for me years ago which is high enough so I can roll over on my side and watch the morning light illuminate the poplar leaves on the other side of the dike, or , if no trees, on a clear day I can see the Hills on the other side of the river Po.

    One of the best things is to have the full, August moon come in my window and flood the bedroom with its mysterious light. So, that was why I really enjoyed hearing about your moon light experience….I live here six months and cannot have animals because of my life style, but the neighbor cats come and visit from a distance, loving the freedom from danger in my fenced in courtyard. cynthia

  10. Maria, I echo others comments, you have a beautiful way of expressing yourself and I found myself sitting there with you in the moonlight through your words. The country is special in its quietness, isn’t it. In itself, it is peaceful. The people in it are not always peaceful but we have a head start with the very quietness of our surroundings.
    SandyP in Canada

  11. Maria, your talents abound and you continue to bloom. You are a wonderful flower who shows us more beauty all the time. I love all of your work.

  12. Hi Maria, I’m reading this a few days later -on the 5th, and I, like everyone above, was so touched by your story and your candid sharing of it. Almost felt too intimate to ‘eavesdrop’ on, but there you have it – your sadness became the alchemist for this lovely experience of oneness with nature, connecting with Mother, and reconnecting with Jon. Just lovely!

  13. Maria, I read your blog everyday, just as I do Jon’s. I love your potholders and wonder how I can order some. I prefer to call in my orders just as I do with Battenkill Books. Is that possible? If not, can I order some other way and send a check? What is the best way to do this?
    I’m so excited to see you make the move to the new farm. When I read Jon’s blog, I see that everyday is a new adventure–an opening to a new world, or walk down a new road. I remember how excited (and tired) I was when my husband and I moved to our new home. I hope that someone buys the Old Bedlam Farm who loves it as much as you and all of your followers do. I’m sure that there is someone out there.
    Have a wonderful weekend.

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