September 13, 2019 by petrujviljoen
Walking the measure of the full moon. That’s something. Isn’t it? Sure it is.
Motion, space, sight, hearing: everything changes. The senses are heightened. The walkers a flock of birds, even if earthbound, answering the call of nature alternate, a fortunate reminder of the different perspective. That’s why one does these things.
Gathering at moonrise, the 21 fell into a slow, easy rhythm. Following the daytime trail, at night, light of the full moon blazing. The stabled horses snorted some, curious at the spectacle of the people, stamping a hoof in question: ‘’What?’’ The people didn’t hear. If only they would. Or could.
At the time, at the gather, voices already grew muted. It’s a silent business, this measuring of the moon, taking one’s own measure, at a time the moon is at its fullest. Here be bemusement, perhaps a bewilderment? Imagine the question: ‘’How can I … not?’’
The burnt veld, indicative of the day to day – no water, no phone signal, no water, dashing for a buck, hearing (rumours) of disaster, no water – the matter of it all falls away. The burnt veld: it’s a winter thing. People wrapped up, allowing for freedom. Of movement that is. A creative balance. It took forethought.
Awareness! Rocky outcrops could trip one up. Head down, careful where to put one’s foot, one after the other. Aware one may bump into the sharp edges each psyche may still carry. Taking a rest (from it), watching the moon emit a halo, dots of light, as if water, sprinkling the distance, colour as silent as the people – utter appreciation.
gathering the moon
– silence rising