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Navigating by reflected light
The chorus frogs no longer quiet as I pass. Perhaps it is the angle of the moon, my failure to cast a shadow on the pool of reeded water where they sing, or my ill-advised black nighttime running garb, hard to spot for frogs and drunken drivers both. Perhaps my step is lighter.
My path illuminated by the moon, anorthositic light, an airless light. It was brighter once, these tides more terrible. It was an unimaginable catastrophe, a planet-destroying blow, and yet a partnership then slowly coalesced from the debris. A gigantic moon hung low and bright above the earth, passing overhead each 19 hours, wresting tide tremors in the Earth’s hot heart. Their pas des deux spun them apart. The moon is six feet farther from me than it was when it first lit up my eyes a half century ago.
The white soil shines in her reflected light. The path it opens up in her reflected light. Her reflected light limns the grass awns, the webs of hunting spiders.
I have too easily found my way by her reflected light. My eyes grown keen and sensitive to the smallest cloud across her face. She heads toward the horizon where I cannot see her. To the east the land is bright, lit by the daylight glory I have shunned. I would cast my own shadows there.
Posted by: Chris Clarke
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