I've been listening to Edward Rutherford's excellent novel Sarum during drives and runs. It recounts the history of Salisbury from paleolithic times. It's divided into sections and roughly follows generations of the same families, some original inhabitants, some of Roman, Saxon, Danish and Norman descent.
In the early parts, the people worship either the sun god or the moon goddess. The sun god is depicted as a swan. When I watched this cob swan bathing in the river today I was awe struck at his majesty, his strength and pride and the gleaming brilliance of him. I could understand.
We could do with a bit more of him here.
For my part, I have tended to favour the moon goddess. The other night, the finest first showing of the crescent moon was blade-sharp. A crystal slicing through the blackness. I noticed her, stared, and caught sight of her repeatedly on the way home. You could see the shadowed sphere of the whole little planet, more dark than the night. And I thought, 'The moon is always full - it just takes a change of perspective.' For were I not on earth but somewhere else in space, I would see the moon's full face.I thought, 'We are trapped by this earthbound perspective to see the moon wax and wane.' But now I realise that she is shadowed by our planet and the sun's rays can only strike part of her. Yet she would still look different, not a crescent but something other... were we to look from somewhere else. And at times she would indeed be completely in the shade.
Richard would know.
But the sun can't always make the moon his.
My friend Linda used to text me to look at the full moon, and my friend Elly emailed me about this crystalline blade of a crescent. We all love a sunny day and celebrate his presence, but she, the moon, does something else... instead of rousing this joy, she rouses love and then connection.
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