Sunday, May 16, 2010

Lost on a Moonbeam

A silver slip of a moon is showing from behind the dank dress of darkness. Radiant is the night sky in its very shroud, like the blackest heart of a diamond. The ghosts of trees are uncovered in my intrusive headlights. They appear to be sleepwalking, those trees, with their pale eyelids loosely shut and their hair tangled in the blackness. I see the stretch of the sea rising up before me, and if I could, I would drive full force straight into the waves, headlong into the horizon, and steer myself on a moonbeam to the world on the other side of the moon. There is a garden there, you know, just like Howard Pyle told me about in one of those books, those books a "grown-up" like me shouldn't read - as if fairy tales were only for children. The blinker, steady and impenetrable, guides me to the left, and life winds up along the coast on auto-pilot.

This all-too-tranquil world needs a thunderstorm, I think. One of those rants of heaven when the rain comes in floods, when the lightning strikes the fingertips of the sea, when electricity grows scarce and candlles light up a room revealing its hidden identity - the alternate reality of candlelit darkness. Send me lightning, O heavens! Send me fire...


  1. beautiful photograph, I wish I had a camera for night shots. happy monday.

  2. Just wanted to let you know I was here! I loved the fingertips of the sea and the hidden identity of a room that comes out when there's candlelight. There's not a cliche in anything you write, and its beautiful.

  3. Love that photograph!!!
    Just beautiful:)


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