Wolf Moon

Ever since I was a little girl I used to sit at my bedroom window and watch the Luna light gently drift over the garden. The intricate details from grass blades mirroring each other, to long dark shadows stretching out into the abyss. The glow of fox eyes lapping water by the pond, bats flitting and playing in the mild night air whilst far in the forest, owls would hark wise old tales to those like me who were still awake.

The radiant beacon would rise, sitting high in the sky as a succession of clouds would line up to pass in front of its beautiful light, stars twinkling, like a palm of glitter blown upwards to the heavens. My mother always used to tell me to wish upon the first star, the first sparkle to dot in the navy skies. Most nursery rhymes are gruesome or melancholy, but this filled hope into a heavy and wounded heart.

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have this wish I wish tonight

As a child I would share my wishes to the man in the moon, as a teenager my ambitions, now as an adult I share my desires and fantasies. The luminous orb would listen to my sorrows, my laughter, my joy or my impatience; it was an old cliche of there being light in the darkness, happiness to outbalance the hardship. But it worked. It still works. It’s my therapy when it appears in the sky.

This January a full moon is a wolf moon, where in remote cold lands, wild scant wolves would scavenge on desolate, empty landscapes, desperate howls calling to their pack in hope of food and prey. Trees are bare of their fruits, only twigs awkwardly pointing to the worlds around and wild woodland creatures, deep in hibernation brings only a silent nightfall.

Cold frost bites at the remaining plant life and morning dew brings a carpet of shimmering silver, a magical natural touch to an otherwise cold, grey scene. Crowds of scarves, hats and gloves skate down streets whilst the bulbs of daffodils and blue iris are birthed in muddy ditches and aside pavements.

Winter is desolate and dank, it becomes cold and vast, unbearable wishes for summer and light are flung to the stars above. But there is magic in this moonlight, there is enlightenment in the empty and there is hope among the hollow.

When that beautiful glow warms the dark, lights up the midnight sky and reflects down to our bleak and lonesome land, it brings comfort, reassurance and love to our broken hearts, to our melancholy minds and to our small blue eyes where only time has passed. I still share all my wishes, my ambitions and my deepest, darkest devotions to that sweet exquisite moonlight. As winter passes and spring is reborn, my secrets are shared only with that man in the moon.

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