By The Light Of The Moon...

This past Saturday (the 25^th) was the Full Moon for May. Native Americans refer to it as the Full Flower Moon because of the blooming that goes on around this time, and the Full Corn Moon as corn planting begins.

It was one of our cooler nights as of late, so I had to throw on a jacket for my usual Full Moon photo session. The sky was clear, its starry blanket twinkling away. Luna herself was big and bright. Just on perigee, the Moon was at its closest point to the Earth for the month. Spectacular…but then I always think the Moon is spectacular. Especially on cloud free nights like Saturday.

I don’t usually encounter any other people when I go out for one of my night time Moon strolls…for the most part. Oh, a car may pass by as it slowly makes its way through the condos. For the most part I just hear life going on around me; from the murmurings of TVs or neighbors in conversation to the rustle of a nocturnal creature foraging for its dinner. On the rare occasion that I have met someone while peering through my tripod set camera, they have greeted me as they moved past. I can remember only one particular greeting that was followed by a question: what are you doing? After a short and sweet explanation (I actually like it when I don’t meet anyone on my mini-walks as it adds to the relaxing side of my outing), they went on to say that they had seen me out at night before and wondered what the heck I was doing. It seems as if my fellow marsh denizens think me a bit odd. Oh well…I take it as a compliment…hey, at least I’m not boring. Interestingly enough, the Full Moon has long been associated with insane behavior, and sleeplessness. The Full Moon (Luna) influenced the terms “lunacy”, and “Lunatic”. An extension of the crazy behavior during a Full Moon is the fabled existence of lycanthropy, or werewolves.

(I find this one interesting...the Moon looks like some sort of glowing balloon pinned in  the middle of the chaotic limbs...it looks like it's being pushed in by the protrusions.)

It was such a peaceful night. The shadows were long in the rays from the celestial Fresnel, bathing the quiet marsh in its light. It’s a common occurrence for me to see a particular setting, and imagine how it could be emulated on a stage. With actors. And dialogue. *sigh*…I miss being involved in theater…

I have stated on more than one occasion how I hope to get a camera at some point in the not too distant future that will take decent night shots. One that will allow me to capture the stars in the sky, or the mare of the Moon’s surface. (‘Mare’ are the darkened areas you can see with the naked eye.) That being said, I do like the ethereal quality I get with the camera I currently use. Due to my aversion to using a camera flash, I rely solely on the Moon to light my shots. I really dig the resultant feathery, otherworldly quality I get. The abstraction.

(Edward Lear)

While I was walking around framing up potential shots through the trees, a poem came to mind. I paused for a moment to look up at the expanse of stars, and a lovely silly little poem from my childhood popped into my head…”The Owl and the Pussy-cat”.

Described as a “nonsense Poem”, poet Edward Lear penned the short and sweet story about the escapades of the titular anthropomorphic characters, in 1871. There are two reasons I found for the creation of said poem: 1) he wrote it for the 3 year old daughter of friend poet, John Addington Symonds, and 2) he wrote it for the children of his patron, the 13^th Earl of Derby, Edward Stanley. Well, whatever his reason for writing it, it’s a charming little tale.

There are a couple of things in the poem that have always raised a question mark for me. The first is the mention of a “runcible spoon”. Many sources say that the word was created for the poem by Lear, and many others say that a “runcible” spoon can best be described as the more modern “spork”. (If you have ever gotten food from KFC, you’ll know what a “spork” is…a combo fork-spoon.) The other mystery mention is that of a “Bong-Tree”, which after some Googling appears to also be a nonsensical product of Lear’s brain. (For those that were thinking it, no…it is not a tree they make bongs out of…)