Jupiter? The bright light near the moon must be Jupiter. The hole in the clouds seems larger. The ground fog but a whisp of a layer; not thick enough to provide cover for things unknown--unseen is unfeared? I got my faded blue jacket, gloves, stocking cap--crept into the bedroom for wind pants, muttered Nothing to a murmured what are... from somewhere neath the covers and went to the back door. Nothing stirs. If the owl sees me, it pays no mind. A few of the cows might turn their heads, but no mooing is heard. The stars and the sliver of a moon give enough light I can follow the dashed line of the road as it leads me to waters edge. The sound of the rocks being pushed and rattled starts the guessing about the tide--is it going out or coming in? Each waves whisper is followed by the rattling of beach gravel rearranging itself for the new day. Footprints are being erased; yesterdays echoes no longer there to follow--I am left on my own to find my way up the prairie. In daylight I would have greens and blues, yellows and browns, and even greys and whites to color my way. In this half-lit world of stars and moon I have only variations of darkness... and one coyote that might, or might not, be announcing my passing. It doesnt sound that close. The flashlight has not been turned on. The ground fog is still a mile away. If I had been a half an hour earlier the lights on the outbound freighter would have been counted, length guessed at, destination fantasized about, but now it is well out in the strait. All that registers is that it is outbound--red light on the left, a green light on the right, or port and starboard, in case some seafaring sort is listening. The lighthouse on the Dungeness Spit blinks, answered by a flash from Point Partridge. In between them but far across several miles of never still water are the lights of Victoria. There is never darkness. A light is carried, but not yet needed tonight. The trails turn has put Polaris straight in front of me. Two bears in the night sky--their presence has comforted travelers long before the glaciers built this prairie I am crossing. I explained to them once that I can find my way here and they could go help someone else, someone astray. A silent twinkle that I could not interpret was sent from so far away I was not born when it started its journey. At the cemetery our countrys flag sleeps in its cone of light. The headstones it watches over tell of seafarers and soldiers, mothers and children, priests and pilgrims, all gathered here to wait for the next step in an untold camino. I passed on pavements edge, not wanting to disturb the quiet with the crunch of running on the gravel. If I had left a light on I would be able to see our back porch. I did not. The darkness of night should only be penetrated by stars, lighthouses, and an occasional not quite seen flash from the ground fog over the newly plowed field. The field is just far enough away that I do not need to show the green light to whatevers eyes just blinked. The protection of the headstones is left behind. The back door is an unprotected half mile away, but there is no wind to move the fog and unprotected does not mean unsafe, tonight.
Posted on: Sat, 26 Oct 2013 06:59:24 +0000
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