…a vast blanket of slightly lightened navy sky and, all around, evidence of rain. Leaves lay sodden by roadsides. Water trickled. The wind gusted strongly.
But no lovely Super Full Moon. Little more than an occasional damp smudge on the endless cloud.
I could weep. It feels so sad, such a loss, this beautiful sight, this special moment, this once in a lifetime manifestation, denied to me – hidden, for some reason I cannot fathom, beneath the bulging canopy of sky in a North Somerset village.
But then much is obscure, out of sight, in my life at present. Mysteries abound, not all pleasant. Answers are few and do not add up. A sense of deep black cloud hangs over the bright moon of my hope and endeavours. I cannot penetrate it. The radiance is trapped.
The splendour of Moon Goddess was broadcast widely in the heavens. Images sail and shine and shimmer on all the social sites.
She was there. I know that. I can see through other people’s eyes and cameras, uploadings and post-moon scribblings.
I bury myself in the comforting blanket of the imagination – and use photos taken by those who did see to warm my aching heart.
But it is not the same.
She did not visit me – and I cry, grieved by this.