When the hollow is lit up by moonlight you can't take a picture of it. It runs too fast. If you could build a dam and keep the light in, keep the space from rolling, the shot would be clear. Living in the hollow on a full moon I experienced something that moved faster than I do. I couldn't ignore it. Spilling the trees, spilling the gravel, spilling the inhabitants, out of the woods, out of the path, out of the houses, give up being rooted and tumble in it. It's really a wash.
Spooky, he said. Which surprised me. He pushed his hands through the air, as if through water, as if swimming, and again, pushing the mountains back. The moon is a lid and we are in a dark kettle. I come from the mountains, but my son, he is from the prairie.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if this is what the moon looks like in Australia.
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