Blue mooning…

Last night was blue moon night. Of course it was cloudy again, but determined I stayed up late and eventually the clouds broke and there it was; the blue moon watching me as I stood alone without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own, remembering past times.

A blue moon is the type of moon that shines when Americans shouldn’t go up onto the moors at night, the type of moon that could stop the darts flying and silence the locals drinking ale in the Slaughtered Lamb. Ah, Jenny Agutter, Jenny Agutter, how I wish I had a pencil for that creamy cafeteria.

They say that the full moon brings madness and as I stood gazing up at her that is what I felt, a little madness. Moonstruck and facing up in true lunatic fashion, I lifted my head to the skies and howled a long whooping cry from a primeval soul I didn’t know that I possessed. If you hear me howling around your kitchen door, better not let me in. Little old lady got mutilated late last night, Werewolves of London again. Aaooooo! Werewolves of London. Aaooooo!

Of course, there are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. Maybe this was one of them because as I stood entranced by the cold light I understood that if this moon smiled, she would resemble someone I knew long ago. A one that leaves the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating

The blue moon, such a dizzying spectacle even with the clouds coming and going across her hidden face. I stood in the sculptured moonlight and gazed up at her realising that the moon had been observing the earth close-up longer than anyone. She must have witnessed all of the phenomena occurring - and all of the acts carried out - on this earth. But the moon remains silent; it tells no stories. All it does is embrace the heavy past with a cool, measured detachment. On the moon there is neither air nor wind. Its vacuum is perfect for preserving memories unscathed. No one can unlock the heart of the moon.

And then I heard somebody whisper "Please adore me" And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold in the puddle where I was trying to catch it with a garden implement as I moonraked for cheese with all my soul, fooling myself more than the excise men.

Maybe it was the brandy, or maybe the spell of her face, perhaps it was even moon dust falling on me for grace. But I enjoyed my few minutes of blue moon, and as my memories raced, I smiled and blue the moon a kiss. And in that there’s no disgrace.

And these were the memories of over fifty years that flooded from the moonlight and then went in the beat of a heart. The next blue moon is in January 2018. I hope I'm around to see it.