August 9th 2009

    In the evening, a moon on the Eastern horizon will send shadows directly into the room where I sleep.  Last night as it breached the trees it was an orange face.  A couple of nights ago it was full. 

    Were I a meticulous person I would know the moon from calendars.  Understand moon myths as belonging to campfires and to those creative minds men of science refer to as nutcases.  There is no physical association between moon phase and behavior amongst members of our species.  Any behavioral response apparently, is psychosomatic.

    When I slept outside a great deal the moon had meaning.  In cold places a white moon meant extra cold.  In warm places a visible moon meant little chance of rain.  And when the moon approached fullness, it made not the slightest difference to these concerns of rain and cold.  Now when the moon reaches fullness, it casts upon layers of curtain in the room where I sleep and I am restless.

    Perhaps the mind considers it daylight.  Time to get up and about, pester the kitchen for coffee, dip a foot into the outside air.  Perhaps, through the day I am insufficiently engaged in those activities that result in correct sleeping patterns.

    I lie with my head under the pillow contemplating the works of Satan before entering a reverie of thought that leads me in peculiar directions.  In the morning I have charmed ideas, those sorts of places reasonable men do not hesitate to dismiss as follies, but which in my mind make perfect sense, and which if criticized as lunacy results in vehement and aggressive defense from what remains of me.

    There are some who will suggest that a hundred and sixty foot mole barrier is one such example of lunacy, and I must be wary in the extraordinary event that so direct and apparently obvious solution is indeed the result of a derangement.

    I suspect though, that this shift in emphasis amongst those enthusiasms that fill my day is consequent upon language use.  An offhand reference to my 'being' as "digger boy" by that recent heroine of the vegetable garden, has produced yet one more angst attributable to moles.  And I reckon that when the weather cools stubbornness will guide this moon driven path, rather than anything approaching reasonableness.

tim candler

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