I took a real moment,
not a virtual corona one,
to step out into the garden,
under cover of the darkest night.
White noise and rustle
of leaves – the only human
sound was the distant hum
of tyre on tarmac, a delivery truck
perhaps. It was quiet
and so dark I could not see
my hands, but overhead
the night sky sparkled with a bright,
multitude of stars,
distant and countless.
In that moment, the universe took
my breath away,
made my head spin,
made me gasp so my chest
hurt and my lungs felt as if they were alight.
Lying on its back,
the moon smiled enigmatically
at the brightest star, steadfastly
burning – Venus pinned on her zodiac hook.
I swear she winked at me,
a slow, knowing lowering
of her eyelid, as if to say,
‘Take a breath, everything will be all right.’
Kim M. Russell, 26th April 2020
Last year, on Friday, April 26th, Karin shared some of her original recycled artwork (which I’ve missed, by the way) and wrote about being conscious of the movement of the seasons, and seeing them twice, particularly spring, first in city parks and then a few weeks later in the country. She said that seeing rewinds of seasons makes her aware of the recharging of the landscape.
Her prompt was to write about moments of re-charging, rebooting, re-winding, re-birthing, and was meant to be as general as possible – Karin didn’t want us to write about the seasons or generalities, but to be in the moment. The first time around, I wrote about taking a moment from washing up to listen to a pigeon cooing on our chimney pot.
I’m merging this prompt with Kerry’s Skylover Wordlist, sourced from Dylan Thomas’s poetry collection Deaths and Entrances, from which the twenty-sixth word is ‘zodiac’.