Pray to the Moon when She is round,
Luck with you will then abound,
What you seek for shall be found
On the sea or solid ground.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Super Buck Moon: Just Me & My Boys.

Preparing for the Buck Super Moon. Drying goose eggs. Just the usual weirdness.
Preparing for the Buck Super Moon.
Drying goose eggs. Just the usual weirdness.

We spent much of the afternoon preparing for this Super Buck Moon to rise. Drying eggs, polishing elm branches (Ulmus pumila), shaving manzanita tips (Arctostaphylos patula), trimming black locust thorns (Robinia pseudoacacia)...

It's all part of the weird-work we do.

When Her Time was Right, She rose up, over the rocky crest, into the clouds...

Buck Moon Rising 1

Buck Moon Rising 2

Buck Moon Rising 3

Buck Moon Risen

Buck Moon Offerings.
Buck Moon Offerings.
Offerings this time seemed to demand volumes of liquid-fire -- a bowl of vodka with a splash of Chambord. (What is it about Spirits & spirits?) Italian hazelnut chocolates & four sticks of that strange Chinese incense. Not the usual protocols... make it all strong. Very strong. (Like Her namesake?)

Buck Moon Reading.
Buck Moon Reading.
The children & I paused on the steps under the Moony cloud cover to draw cards by candlelight. No supplemental light would have been necessary had that sky cooperated with Ms. Moon. But clouds are fickle creatures, particularly in the High Desert.

One card each, right out of the satin & velvet bag, no spreads -- just keep it simple. Auspicious messages all around. I read them each a short interpretation in the heady mantle of incense which hovered about us -- where went the Wind?

Finally, to the tent, to spend our second Night under the great gaze of the Moon & the starry cloak of beauteous Nyx. 

In the thick of the night, when silence falls over everyone, even the crickets, sometimes the Coyotes (Canis latrans) "howl." If you have ever heard this, you know that "howl" is an inadequate word because their voices do not resemble dogs or wolves in the slightest. They shriek & cry like ghosts. Every time I hear their haunting songs I have a moment of confusion -- what IS that? This night I wake to the deafening silence, only a single errant cricket can be heard. What is wrong with him? Then, from the North, an otherworldly shriek. A rejoinder comes from the South, then another from the East. They are playing at call & response across this corner of the Valley, here at the mouth of the canyon. I feel both blessed & haunted.

We wake early, ensconced in our tent-turned-roaster, baking in the Morning Sun, unzip the tent to greet Breakfast Canyon, the Bovini & a new Day.  

Moon watching from our tent.
Moon watching from our tent.

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