Faerie Paths — Icicles

Oh! where do fairies hide their heads
When snow lies on the hills,
When frost has spoil’d their mossy beds,
And crystalliz’d their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip
In circles o’er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip
Till green leaves come again.
~Thomas Haynes Bayly

 

 

 

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Eye Saw The Eclipse

Alright all you T.E.G.s — Total Eclipse Geeks —

Did you all go outside the other day with your glasses and try and catch a glimpse of one very cool astral happening? Tell the truth — how many of you tried to catch a peek at what was going on without your protective glasses?

It was pretty cloudy here in the Midwest United States. We were scheduled to see the moon/sun thing about 1:10 pm. I must admit I did sneak outside (at the end of my lunch time) only to be greeted with bumpy clouds. Alas…about 15 minutes later there was this little uproar throughout the office — the clouds had parted! It was happening!

So I, along with a dozen of my co-workers, went outside (after our scheduled lunch time) and gazed at the phenomenon through eye-protecting glasses (although I have to raise my hand…I did for a NANOSECOND peek at the sun without said glasses…just to see…)

So I figured I would share some old-world explanations for what today’s scientists so flippantly explain with exact detail.

According to TimeandDate.com:

In Vietnam, people believed that a solar eclipse was caused by a giant frog devouring the Sun.

Norse cultures blamed wolves for eating the Sun.

In ancient China, a celestial dragon was thought to lunch on the Sun, causing a solar eclipse. In fact, the Chinese word of an eclipse, chih or shih, means to eat.

According to ancient Hindu mythology, the deity Rahu is beheaded by the gods for capturing and drinking Amrita, the gods’ nectar. Rahu’s head flies off into the sky and swallows the Sun causing an eclipse.

Korean folklore offers another ancient explanation for solar eclipses. It suggests that solar eclipses happen because mythical dogs are trying to steal the Sun.

The Pomo, an indigenous group of people who lived in the northwestern United States, tell of a story of a bear who started a fight with the Sun and took a bite out of it. In fact, the Pomo name for a solar eclipse is Sun got bit by a bear.

The ancient Greeks believed that a solar eclipse was a sign of angry gods and that it was the beginning of disasters and destruction.

According to Inuit folklore, the Sun goddess Malina walked away after a fight with the Moon god Anningan. A solar eclipse happened when  Anningan managed to catch up with his sister.

I don’t know about you, but I’m rather amazed at the explanations the ancients had. After all — what did the poor sun do to get bit by so many animals?

The TRUTH Behind Cats and the Strawberry Moon

hdAlright. Now that the Strawberry Moon thing is over, I can tell you the real story of my last blog.

You see, I was walking down the tractor trail along this huge, long cornfield. It happened that sunset and moonrise were at the same time that night, and with MR — I mean Mercury Retrograde (I can say it now) in full swing, I was prepared for anything.

Or so I thought.

As the huge moon crested over a barn in the far distance (a real Kodak moment), I started to hear strange sounds from the center of the cornfield. Now, mind you, the corn is really only stubble; 4-5 inches max. So I should have noticed something strange down the row from the get-go. But you know me — into the Goddess “thing” and blah blah blah-ing to the moon about writing and getting published and all that, I just didn’t notice.

I didn’t notice a gathering of moving things dancing in a circle.

Now, you know me. I’m more pretzel than logic, and my creativity takes me to places I’ve never been before. But I was standing on a dirt road all by myself a quarter mile from home, so I instantly switched to my logic gear (also known as survival mode).

I stood very still, trying to figure out what the commotion was. If it was a band of gypsies or satan worshipers, I was gonna take off faster than Dale Earnhardt. But the “gathering” wasn’t tall at all. Not like human beings. Not even tall enough to be kids.

No — the noise was coming from something no bigger than a cat.

Wolves, I thought. Coyotes. Eating, devouring their prey. Howling and growling and sacrificing to the Strawberry Moon. I felt adrenelin flush my whole body. Yet I had to know. Curiosity was suddenly my deadly companion. So C and I tip-toed closer to the group making all the noise.

All I could hear was, “Mrrrro brrrreeerrr Mrrrrro! Mrrrrro breeerrrr Mrrrro!” Over and over. Chanting. A mantra. Surely they were calling up the spirits of the Strawberry! I would be a gonner if I wandered any closer. But, you know me. I couldn’t resist.

Louder and louder they chanted. The moon kept rising, bigger, fuller, flushed with red, not unlike the Strawberry it was named after. The cold wind blew around me, bringing goosebumps to my under-dressed body. But the chanting got louder and louder.

What in the #($*#@ was going on?

Suddenly the chanting reached its pinnacle, and all in one voice they screamed, “MRRRRO BEEERRRRZZZ MRRRROOOOO!” The moon shook, the wind swirled in a final tornado, and suddenly 7 or 8 cats ran off into the night!

They had been dancing around something half buried between two corn stubs. I was terrified. But I had wandered this far — what could it have been?? Stumbling over the last few rows of corn, smashing a stalk or two (sorry, farmer John), I saw what the commotion had been about.

Half buried in the dirt was a little dark blue football, a big orange “C” facing the Strawberry Moon that now had turned orangy itself. And I knew.

Go Bears Go.

The Chicago Bears needed all the help they could get…

(I told you there was a story there somewhere….)

Moonrise At Sunset

The crispness of the evening crackled around me as I sat on the rustic bench at the edge of the harvested cornfield.  I was on a mission; I was determined to watch the moon rise over the horizon. I had toddled down the path through the woods behind my house, laptop in hand, hoodie tied tight around my head.  There was rustling about — shuffling and shifting somewhere in the distance as creatures large and small began to find shelter for the night.  I sat quietly, laptop on my legs, waiting for the crest of the moon’s edge to peek over the farthest boundary line of earth.

There was more shuffling through the skeletal bushes as the shadows grew around me.  I pushed away flashes of monsters and rabid raccoons and embraced the thought of it being a bird or squirrel.  Little, gentle things. My query was soon answered in the form of a large black bird that appeared on the branch of the tree in front of me.  Her beady eyes blinked at me, her head tilted slightly. “What in the world are you doing here so late?  Go home! It will be a cold one tonight!” she scolded. I agreed with the bird, watching her shimmy and shake before disappearing into the woods.  She was no fool; it was indeed getting chilly.

My fingertips began to numb as my eyes kept watch through the barbed wire fence, across the harvested cornfield, past the ridge of trees and farms to the horizon in the distance. As the evening sky turned from lavender ribbons to purple shadows, thoughts of previous generations ran through me. Who knows what our ancestors thought when they looked up at the night time sky? I knew that the Andromeda Galaxy glowed in one of the legs of the W of Cassiopeia, and the right side of the cup of the Little Dipper pointed upwards to the North Star.  But the locals had taken their own spin on astronomy, leaving me wondering about my long-held beliefs.  Does Apollo ride his steeds through the Wisconsin sky just as he did in Greece?  Is the constellation Orion actually the outline of a football player getting ready to throw a pass?  Does the pointer star really always point towards a tavern?

The crow returned, landing very near on the post beside me.  She wondered what I was still doing there.  I was an alien here.  That, and I probably smelled like garlic from my spaghetti dinner.  I tried sitting very still, but the bird had never seen a wild woman hanging around on this bench at this hour, and squawked that fact to anyone who would listen.  Finally, after making her point, she took off in a huff. Point taken.  Yet this stranger in a hoodie still hung around. Sunset gave way to darkness, moonrise only minutes away. Anticipation grew inside of me.

Where was the full round beauty that taunted mere mortals with her presence?  Where was the crest of her silver hair above the horizon?   She was the goddess of the night, the seductress in the midnight blue wrap.  Her dark cape sparkled with distant flecks of existence; yet in her full glory there was no star that could match her brilliance. How silent these woods had suddenly become.  I sat in vigilant dedication, my shivering the only noticeable movement.   I could not see my fingers, my letters, my writing.  A subtle numbness started to creep down from the tips of my gloves, yet still I waited.  Darkness had covered the wilderness, forcing me to pay closer attention to everything around me.

Suddenly, a loud crash and shuffling came from my left.  Bigfoot!  Hodag!  Tyrannosaurus Rex!  But, no! Too light-footed!  It had to be a deer crashing through the bramble.  The hoofed steps stopped on the path, listening.  All was silent. We both held our breaths, she in the woods, I on the bench.  My heart exploded, leaving me wanting to turn around just for a peek. Turn! Just turn! But I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. What a dip! The moment stretched into an eternity, until finally the doe walked the other way, crunching the leaves in her wake.  She must have been making her way to the cornfield, circling away from the soft glow of the computer screen and the odd scent of garlic. I can’t say that I blamed her.

Finally the moment had come.  The first pinpoint of light in the distance — She appeared!  But gasp upon gasps!  What was this?  Her crown was not the color of ghosts or spider webs — the Lady’s mane was red!  My Goddess of the Night was a crimson-haired tart!   Full and round, she rose majestically through the black distance, the world stopping for a moment to honor her presence.  Her red mane radiated over the valley and poured across the landscape, Her round orb was breathtaking! Sassy!  The Moon Goddess watched over that magical night with the grace of a queen with her crown of rubies.  She was beautiful in her new outfit — proof that women could change their appearance whenever they wished.  They could be feminine and pure and complex and naughty with merely a change of color — or thought.  It was the delight of being female, the magic of the power within.

Eventually I closed my laptop, extinguishing the last remains of my human presence.  Her aura slowly turned back to haunting white, glowing enough to light my path back home. I promised to come visit again, not only when she was at her fullest, but also when she was merely a slice rising in the distant dark sky,

And in return, I heard her say that she’d come to my house for garlic spaghetti any time.