The Light That Watches

I don't like walking at night.  The houses are blank.  Shadows multiply and stray with a fey perversity.  Plants turn into animals.  Sidewalks become black rivers as I splash blindly forward.

Street lights are weak and unreliable.  Instead, I find that I look beyond their helplessness, years into the sky, into a distant lamp.

Surrounded by a choir of stars, fierce and white, she is a remote comfort.  The cold light of the moon travels through the currents of galaxies, the archeology of the air, all the way to me – walking home from work.

And if I could, I would reach up to pull that chilly jewel away from her velvety setting, from her shadowy bed.  I would feel the smooth facets, the gentle orbit, in my hand.  I would let the light that was born inside her escape through my fingers, embroidering my arms with lunar silhouettes.  I would place her in my hair and let her dreams and mythologies – Diana's hunt, Selene's chariots – illuminate it with their bright travels, sparkling through the dark map.

Her constant beauty will always be a comfort, an unimpeachable loveliness watching me.  But she remains an aloof satellite, burning with a frosty purity.  She is only a distant thought, and I continue to walk quickly.

Yet each night I can't help but feel – lightly, firmly – a pair of radiant hands on my shoulders, guiding me home.

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11 responses to “The Light That Watches

  1. Fey – there's a word we don't see enough; I, for one, will do my part to change that. "I would feel the smooth facets, the gentle orbit, in my hand. I would let the light that was born inside her escape through my fingers …" — it did, through your typing fingers, into your blog, and now through the computer screen it enters our homes … (or wherever we may be reading)

  2. you talk purrty. &:o)

  3. Beautiful prose (as always!)

  4. So lovely. Thanks for this. (LOL @ YGRS!)

  5. I now have another way to look at my moon when I am out putting the farm aminals to bed. :)She is lovely! *big grin at YG, too* 🙂

  6. I am usually so intent on rushing to get to the safety of home that I do not spare the time to look above.

  7. Lovely! I'm sure that seabound navigators of yesteryear felt the exact same way.

  8. Waterbaby – we should, I think make our resolutions together to unearth the charming words that have faded away through disuse.
    YGRS – yes, that is Wembley's opinion; but what about yours?
    Shutterbug – thank you – it is hard to be constant. And as in all recipes, consistency is completely vital!
    AmyH – and how does the moon look in your lovely desert sky?
    Lauri – I wonder how the animals think, when they look up into the night; do they sense the tides – the seasons?
    Emjay – yes; when I stop to look up, I suddenly realize that I am in the terrible city and I reluctantly – resentfully – continue home.
    Emmi – of course! If your idea had occured to me earlier, this post would have been a paragraph longer!

  9. I'm down with that. Lately I've been itching to use "churlish" and shall keep eyes open to weave it into a post sooner than later.

  10. You could do a Part 2 – I've read several recent articles about nightime navigation by humans and seals, really interesting. I'll try to dig them out. You'd do more literary justice to it than I would.

  11. Lovely, beautiful prose!

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