The Huntress


Last night: a luminous sickle moon suspended in the west above the maple and the willows, like a clipped, discarded thumbnail of God.  I set up the tripod and the binoculars and watched it decline on a northward course from 45 degrees.  The crescent filled the whole lens but was finally lost in the foliage. 

To bathe in silver seas, stand at the division of light and dark, lap celestial milk from the porcelain bowl… The nocturnal and unconverted half of the soul always calls the moon a goddess.


Filed under Misc.

2 responses to “The Huntress

  1. Artemis, huntress and guide, stalwart of night’s lost language.

  2. Ian Woolcott

    A hymn to Artemis, WNGL?

    I tried to bring the boy out to see it, but he was already asleep.

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