“Do you ever walk through the village at night?” C’s question surprised me, I had to think. “No, no, I don’t really…” “Oh, it’s wonderful,” she responded with that soft Southern accent belying her to be “the Other American” (in truth, she is L’Americaine and I am the other but no matter) here. “I do it all the time, it is so quiet.”
She went on to tell me of how she loves to take visiting English immersion exchange students on evening strolls, including a young girl from Monaco who delighted in the ability to do cartwheels through the empty streets…such freedom to be seen unseen.
C and I had been chatting about the upcoming arrival of the Supermoon, the Blood Moon, so rare.
She imparted that she had been charting its progress this month along with her two children, who were coloring its stages nightly for class and told me the best place to see it at the top of the village. I wondered why I had never had such cool and engaging projects in the Midwestern schools I attended as a kid.
Just after 7:30pm, the time that Mr. Moon was supposed to be on the up and up, I was sipping a glass of wine and listening to Miles Davis. I was feeling mighty comfy in that Sunday evening cook a chicken way. But the image of that whirling girl enticed me enough to walk up the two flights to grab my camera and attach its 300 mm lens. All right then, go see, go see…
I climbed the hill and breathed out a “Oh there you are” at the glowing bone ball. I was standing on what had been the cemetery, long ago. The description seemed appropriate and yet C had been right, I felt no fear. Only that quiet that she had mentioned, sinking in, calming my breath and steadying my often shaky hands as I lifted the heavy apparatus time and time again. I shifted the manual settings with squinting eyes as the dark settled in. “If only Remi were here,” I thought nearly automatically, “he would know what to do.” How many times I have literally seen him run to be in the right place at the right time to catch the light, such a precise hunter. Well, instead, I just ambled after the moon – I played, I was a little artsy, at other moments I felt like a grand reporteur on a mission, I leaned into the fuzz of the sunset – and all the while the moon just rose and rose, shifting shades and cutting clouds. I stayed until I was content and paused before swinging the camera over my shoulder and trotting down the hill to whisper “thank you” – to C, to the daring girl, and to the beauty of la lune. Such a mystery still and how I love it that way.
to listen to:
Have a wonderful beginning to your week everyone…
From chezbon via email:
"That moonshot gave me goosebumps! I missed seeing this actually happen. My village also, up here by the tower where I live, is deserted at night once the tourists have gone home after August. This is a very old village, our tower dates to 900, and it is strange to walk through the streets and think about all of the people who walked here before."
And thank you for being you, beautiful Sister of mine!
Romantic and pragmatic…that is you, dear DA. 🙂
Lorrie, what a gorgeous description of your nightly strolls. I can just see it. It takes some courage, non? I woke up the other night, it was who knows what hour and for the first time in many years I felt a tiny bit afraid of the dark. "It is just the dark and I am safe within it" I had to keep repeating. It took me a while to get back to sleep even still…
Merci, Karena…bisous and enjoy…
That must have been…and I apologize for this will make you cringe…a bit magical. And all the better for the surprise of it. I remember getting up in the night years ago to catch a train to catch a plane to go to Kenya and we saw such a moon, we took it as a good omen.
And please oh please, just let me say that this: "though I like to think of Ohio as New England's trashy cousin instead of Nebraska's distant sister" is just brilliant and spot-on!!! I completely agree…
Yes, yes, yes!!!
I loved these dark moody photos of the super moon! We really feel like we were there with you, on that hill – we feel the quiet of the village! I have to say, it was so nice to just be outside, staring up at the moon – here in Ann Arbor it was a beautiful sight – all red and eclipse-y! Look how you're inspiring us all to go outside at night – thank you yet again for your beautiful words and images!
Just dreamy… There is something magical about an autumn moon. (And don't we all look grand by moonlight, besides.) xo
After dinner Tim and I often take an evening walk. As autumn draws the nights in, we walk in the dark. Streetlights illumine part of the way, but our path takes us through a narrow dark wood, up over a small hill where we stop to light-gaze at the city below, and once again through a dark trail homewards. I love the sense of intimacy about walking in the dark, and anonymity, too.
Your photos are lovely. I can imagine you on that hilltop, surrounded by the peace of the cemetery as you moon-watch and awe.