Drinking the full moon
Thursday, Dec. 8, 2022—Winter Poems Series—#2
This time of year the encroaching darkness makes me appreciate light all the more, especially any form of natural light. When last night’s full moon cut through lingering clouds and rising ground fog to limn tree branches and rooftops I drank her white gold light as if it was water and I was a desert wanderer.
It’s this transitional, changeable time of year, you see. My own biology and my sense of belonging in this ecosystem urges me to follow the example of trees and the old peonies in the garden—to drop what isn’t necessary and pull into my roots. Winter is when I sort through and make sense of all the worry and stories and noise that accumulate throughout the rest of the year. I think and dream and remember; I stir and stir and find seeds that have planted themselves and imagine.
You will probably notice a bias toward certain poets or types of poetry in the poems I share over the next few weeks. That’s because I simply had a rummage through my own smallish poetry collection and pulled out winter poems I love, or that inspire or support me through this transitional time.
Most often I’ll read the whole poem in the audio version of this letter then print an excerpt. Where I can, I’ll point you to where you can read the full poem. I definitely recommend checking out the poets whose work I’m sharing and, if you’re able, supporting them by buying books or subscriptions. (No, I don’t get anything for sharing their work beyond the joy of doing so.)
Today’s poem, “The Moon” is by Teresa J. Scollon from her book To Embroider the Ground with Prayer.
"The moon showed herself to me this morning, scraping the sky with her changing blade. I thought of geese flying, lifting themselves again and again over the disappointments of highways, walls and parking lots—the ever-changing world.
With warm and gentle thoughts,