The night will bring a harvest moon. I have seen many and they are special. Brilliant and lighting the sky with magic, even though it is Friday the 13th. I hope there will be dancing with moonbeams and children will laugh as they gather them in baskets like rare gems designed only for their eyes. And they will forever remember from where they come.
Harvest Moon. . .
Within the circumference of the full moon
lies a world of power calculated
to make a man weep. A harvest moon,
brimming with light, great light, prolongs
the day’s labor to make the fields clean,
preparing them for the covering of frost
that will freeze the ground and make way for the snow.
The snow comes in drifts, hiding the stubble
where field mice chew and multiply.
It provides a playground and home
for creatures close to the earth’s crust.
But in the silos, in the barnyards and lofts
is stacked the world’s bounty
to feed those who labored through
the long hot summer to ready the table
for a well earned thanksgiving.
We just suppose the winter will be hard,
written though it has always been for
the old ones to see in the landscape
of the harvest moon. You could not bear
to look at the full moon too hard or too long.
Every farmer soon learns this.
The pull of the moon raises the tides only so far.
But you instinctively knew
that only so far was all the way home.
4 responses to “The Harvest Moon. . . .”
email from Suzanne. . .Beautiful narrative…pulls us all the way home, indeed….
Sent from my iPhone
so much truth Veronica. Years ago I heard the words, “The Moon Is my mother” as i walked under the full moon. Home surrounds us.
Maria, when we think back, much is said that we don’t catch the truth at the time. Later, something sparks us and we know we were told once or many times before. . . Thank you for telling me. .I like to know these things.
Suzanne, and every farmer knows that only so far. . . we knew all the time this was true. But we did not want to test it. Thank you for commenting. There is always so much truth in the old tales of what is now called myth. . .they linger to be told because of the truth they hold. . . hmmmm