I always think with something like this, a celestial event, a lunar eclipse, people ought to be pouring out of their houses in amazement, standing stunned, staring at the sky, in the street, in awe.
But the streets are empty. The city is quiet, those who are out must be hidden from view. The wind is fierce. The clouds move quickly across the sky.
The moon is red. Wolf moon the almanac says it’s called. A prediction of something wild yet to come. A predilection for things wild yet to come.
There are wetlands on the edge of the city older than anyone cares to know. And yet the geese know. The blue herons. And the crows of course too.
There are things to remember and things to learn. There are footsteps to follow. Tracks in mud, and sand, and soil. In snow. 4 toes, hooves, dew claws, tail drags, wing marks from feathers on the birds.
There are things to collect. Plants, for medicine and food. Wood for fires and building. Stories. Friends.
There are things to carry. Our babies. Water. Tools.
If we get to live here for one minute we are lucky. There is always something amazing to see, to hear, to do. Small things, many things, mountains of things.
The wind sounds like ocean. Like waves. Like oceans of waves. I close my eyes and sit still.
a prediction of things wild
yet to come.