As we drive down the national road,
darkness surrounds us
beyond the glaring street lights lined up between the opposing lanes.
I lift my eyes and see the full Wolf Moon low over the silhouetted hills,
as big as a circus tent and as open as a rolled-out pie crust,
robust and taut,
its colour a rich yellow,
a gold coin rising from the past with familiar splendour.
It hovers between two summits
emitting its haunting dreamy light,
and I think that,
if I were to reach my hand out to touch it –
fingers outstretched with anticipation –
it would settle in my palm,
roll over and go to sleep.
That is the pull it has on me tonight.