We were much younger than we are now, and out in the far West of Ireland, where the sea hits the land so powerfully that foam rises off the waves like snow. We’d spent the evening in a pub, wrapped in the warmth of hot whiskies and the sweet scent of turf smoke. We talked to some strangers, and laughed with them and there was music, and somehow we found ourselves walking with them up a green lane to a cottage where a party was in full swing. There was more music there, and a wild mix of people – a man in a yacht club blazer, a group of West Cork hippies, some younger kids, all talking, some singing, all drinking, and a haze of smoke over it all. At some point we all spilled out into the night, where the grass was wet, to watch the lunar eclipse. That was the point of the party, after all, and we’d half forgotten about it. We watched the moon go red, and then disappear, bite by bite – eaten by some great sky serpent, out of myth. We walked home, hand in hand. That was our first eclipse together.
Not wine, nor roses,
Nor hearts scrawled on midnight leaves,
But a blood red moon.
Toni is back! She’s offered us a choice of prompts – moons or birthdays. I’ve gone with the moon, on a lunatic jaunt, even though the supermoon was hidden by thick low cloud tonight for us. If you go over to dVerse, Toni explains the haibun, and you can read some great poetry, too.