Tag Archives: Pagan Leftovers

The Huntress

Diana

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.

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