Wednesday, June 22, 2016

SOLSTICE AND MOONLIGHT



Private thoughts often clash with public perception. That is why there's a danger in keeping a public journal. Revealing the sacred mechanisms of your inner self always encourages adverse reactions and willingly invites opposition. Fires rage.

After the smoke of the conflagration initially settles, however, a reassuring calm and clarity prevails: and I realize that this is my special place and all others are merely interlopers treading on uncertain terrain.

Despite the dangers and vulnerabilities, there is an intense satisfaction and curious comfort knowing the intruders are there. Without the recurring footfall of  interlopers the silence would be deafening.

Thanks for being here.

Wouldn't it be more simple to speak in layman's terms, Jon?

Probably. But it would be far less poetic.

Moonlight and summer solstice. A full strawberry moon. Moonlight floods the open spaces with dazzling silver light and starkly shadows the forest with intriguing shrouds of mystery. The night is alive with all things nocturnal: owls and bats, 'possums and racoons, crickets, frogs, coyotes and wild dogs.

The coyotes have been abundant these past few nights - howling and shrieking, uttering grievances in a barbaric language that often sounds unnervingly human.

 back yard in moonlight
(and moon rising in header photo)

Last night, just after midnight, piercing screams came from the trees that skirt the cow meadow. The screams continued and increased as they moved closer to the house. Then I heard something running through the tall grasses just beyond my bedroom window. I looked out and saw nothing. 

I dared to venture out on the front porch but could see even less. Clouds were obscuring moonlight and a surrealistic vagueness prevailed. The porch is on a much higher level than the ground. It's more like a balcony.

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks -
it is the east and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon
who is already sick and pale with grief
that thou her maid are far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious....

Long ago, pathetically long ago  I used to know most of Romeo's soliloquies by heart and I could recite them with reasonable conviction. Unfortunately these oratory talents never impressed anyone.

Why did I mention this? I'm simply marveling at the artistic dimensions of my youth.
Nowadays, I have trouble remembering my phone number.

The lightning bugs - or fireflies - are everywhere. When I was a very young child in New Jersey we called them lightning bugs. My family moved to California when I was five and I didn't see lightning bugs for the next thirty years. They are not a west coast pleasure. It's very satisfying to see them again.

Remember those haunting blue orbs that I saw in the forest last summer? They are completely gone. I never saw them again. I'm certain they were some type of firefly.

Summer nights are enchanted here in the wilderness. 

 

 

26 comments:

  1. Never, EVER, walk outside at night when you hear things rushing through the underbrush. Me? That doesn't apply to me. I'm stupid. But unarmed and without a flashlight, what would you have done in a worse case scenario? Jon, don't make me come up there.

    The screams....arghhhh....my sentimental heart would be thinking of a wounded animal. Rabbits and fawns make the most heartbreakingly childlike screams. And I have not seen a lightning bug since leaving Indiana.

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    1. In a worst case scenario I would have been running like a bunny and shrieking like a three-year-old girl.

      My first thought was that the midnight scream was a wounded animal. The next day I did a careful search outside and - thankfully - didn't find anything. The scream could very possibly have been a coyote. They do that often.

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  2. Jon,

    Yes, we called them Lightning Bugs in the part of Pennsylvania where I grew up, too. There were thousands across the yards and fields then, not so much anymore. I'm watching the real world pass away and being left here in this inhuman techno-world and I hate to think of the world to come. Glad to see you continuing to write, especially about invisible creatures of the night.

    Larry

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    1. You are definitely right about the real world vanishing and being replaced by an inhuman techno-world. That's a large part of the reason I chose to live in this wilderness.

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  3. We didn't seem to have lightning bugs in MI but Grandma in TN did and I loved watching them when we went to visit. I've not heard any coyotes but I'm pretty sure it scare the crap out of me in the dead of night. I think you are much braver than I am.

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    1. Coyotes frequently run in packs past my house late at night. The sounds that they make can be intimidating - especially since they often shriek and scream.

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  4. I'm far too emotional about animals' plight to live in the country. (Humans, not so much.)

    The close of your second paragraph really resonates. Neat, your segue from cyber interlopers to the 4-legged variety.

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    1. I am extremely emotional when it comes to animals. I would never last very long on a ranch or farm.

      The close of that second paragraph came out of nowhere, but after I wrote it I really liked it.

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    2. Jon,
      I too am extremely emotional when it comes to animals. For a long time I thought there was something wrong with me. Then I found out others felt the same as I do. I wouldn't last long on a farm either.
      Ron

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  5. Jon,
    I'm loving this summer, even though the days are uncomfortable hot and humid. Always one of my favorite times of the year.
    Ron

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    1. I really enjoy these magical summer nights in the woods, Ron. Tennessee isn't nearly as humid as I thought it would be - but there are some humid days (like today!). The Missouri Ozarks was much more humid and unbearable.

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  6. Quite the poetic mood. :)
    And a bit reckless, too, wandering out on the porch with screaming unknowns racing about!

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    1. The front porch is fairly safe because it's up so high. At least if I saw Bigfoot coming, I'd have a chance to run back inside.

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  7. The words you penned, "a surrealistic vagueness" capture the feeling. The night is indeed alive. Nature and the darkness erupt into sweet pleasures for me too. However I might have been a tad bit unnerved by screams so close.

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    1. I'm getting used to the scary night sounds around here - - but I would admittedly rather see a deer (like you did) instead of coyotes or wild dogs.

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  8. I'd say that your youthful artistic dimensions are still with you, Jon. Enjoy those summer nights, minus anymore freaky screams. It's Sasquatch ;)

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    1. Okay, I'll admit it - - my youthful artistic dimensions have never completely abandoned me.

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  9. Replies
    1. John, when I first moved here I wet my panties every night. Now I only wet them about once a week...

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  10. Guess I'm a chicken. I would stay inside with the doors locked and shades drawn.

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    1. I'm a chicken, too...but I'm a curious one.

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  11. Exciting sounds! I'm reminded of Lugosi's Dracula, "Children of the night, what music they make!" We have recently been visited by a yodeling peacock but he doesn't compare with what ever you have out there. Garlic in the windows? Take care of the cats.

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    1. I often think of the "children of the night" (spoken in a Lugosi accent, of course). I would love to be visited by a yodeling peacock - I never knew they yodeled!

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  12. Your poetic soul really shines through in this post. It's truly wonderful, cowboy.

    Once upon a time, because of some study they were conducting, Johns Hopkins paid for lightning bugs. Not that we kids needed any added incentive to chase lightning bugs, but I don't remember any of us ever selling them to the university.

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    1. I still chase lightning bugs and they hold all the magic that they did when I was a child.
      Whenever a lightning bug happens to get into the house, I always capture it and set it free outside.

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    2. When you set them free, I trust you burst into song. "Born Free," of course. :)

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