Saturday 27 October 2018

The Hunter's Moon






The Hunter’s Moon

Seeking the graced sight
of the Hunter’s Moon,
I left the bright lights
of the house behind me,
and, bundling myself
against the cold,
I took the wooded path
to the place
where I could watch her rise,
fierce and cold against
the purple dark sky.
There I blessed her
for blessing me in turn
with such light:
pure and cold and bright,
gilding the sea golden beneath her
as she rose;
my silver sister of the sky above:
the Lady’s lamp,
a guide for all who wander
and wonder in turn.
Finally, when the cold bit
into my already aching bones
too much,
leaving moon to her meditations,
I left for home.
Trudging darkly along
the wooded path
discerning its grey
pebble skinned presence
barely a step or two ahead
I was gifted
with the sudden
awareness of unaloneness
and paused
in the pitch dark
not sure of what old sense
had been alerted, nor why.
Then, carefully kindling
the little lamp I carried
I sudden saw twelve sets of eyes
gaze glowing from off the path
and realized in front of me,
our holy herd of deer.
Down from the rutting hills
they had come silent as the dusk
that surrounded us, perhaps,
to pay their own homage to the lady
high above us all.
Horse high and seeming huge they were,
I heard now their breathing,
their antlers broad between the branches,
utterly still they stood and stared
as we regarded each other,
“Well met by moonlight”, I thought,
as I, awestruck in stillness also
bowed deeply to these
old ones of the woods,
the first Lords and Ladies
of these sainted lands.
Then, stepping back into the dark
I left them to their silent vigil
and made for home,
my heart elated by that moonlit magic
recalling eden’s evenings
when all were one
before Him.  
Later, making tea,
I wondered how often
on our grey and often seeming
daily darkened path
we have, all about us beings
carrying such, and even
greater blessings,
but never notice, shut in
as we are, behind
our curtained glass,
sitting lost before
our flickering screens,
while they,
keep their ancient vigil too,
waiting for us to touch
stillness long enough,
deep enough, to discern their
moonlit presence
and, at last, know ourselves to be,
with them, one
before the One, from whom
the light and dark
and deer arise.


 
Sat Oct 26th 2018

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