Writing by the moonlight
It’s full moon tonight.
Pale silverlight casting a dim glow on the valley of trees below. It rained in the evening, and the clouds cleared out for the night. So the moon, in all of Her full radiant glory, has the sky to Herself tonight. All is quiet, only lightly accompanied by the chorus of cicadas, occasionally punctuated by the barks of stray village dogs.
Standing by the windows, I cannot help but feel drawn to the view before me. It’s spellbinding, but in the most subtle, quiet and reserved way possible. It roused up waves of quiet yet primal longing to get out there, in the wild, amongst the trees and animals. Its the call of the wild. To do what, I don’t know. But go there, I must.
Even as I write this, I cannot help but feel like the bright lights in my room are an insult to the sacred atmosphere. I switch them off, and other than the dim glow of my screen, I wrote by moonlight.
It’s hard to write anything thoughtful or important when there’s this powerful spell in the air. Perhaps then, the more important thing at hand is to drop my pen, so to speak, and get out there.
Words can wait. The moon doesn’t.