Blood Moon

 

 

The wind comes to worry the earth. Rising up off the lake it crests the clay cliffs and juggernauts into the lea. Hedges and fences are painted with windblown grocery bags, candy wrappers and muddy coffee cups. The fields are strewn with stripped bark, broken branches and fallen nests. The newly greened land is bisected by a grey curtain of rain that rides the wave. It crests to break in hard bullets striking the ground punctuating the rolling surge with a staccato rhythm. The wind climaxes and with a sharp crack the old apple tree splits in two. A snow of apple blossoms rises up and is carried away in the maelstrom. Between the lips of shredded bark the white flesh of the broken trunk glistens pale in the rain under the grey black sky.

The smell of fermenting apple, cloying and sharp, rises from the ruin. Dying from the inside out carpenter ants have softened the heart of the tree leaving a honey tinted pulp, an intricate and muddied labyrinth of passages. Limb by limb the chain saw rives the fallen giant. All the while the wind howls, sweeping in great circles; a wolf rounding the slaughter yard. The growl of the chainsaw blends with its bay.

Night falls and so does the wind, sulking in the dark…waiting. The crescent moon rides the murky swell as it passes and we spin through the firmament. In the still early hours of morning, hidden from the glaring light of day, the bowers burning are graced even now with crumpled brown apple blossoms breathing out the delicate fragrance of a spring aborted. Acrid smoke rises up into the sky. The stench of seared green leaves cling in bitter and stinking brown. The moon fades from warm gold to a stain of clotted blood only to be swallowed by the black heralding the dawn chorus.

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10 thoughts on “Blood Moon

  1.  
    I\’ve missed this, you know. You are my "fix" of grown-up writing. Grown-up art, really.
     
    You haven\’t missed a beat, my friend.
     
    The Pomegranate One

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  2. This is wonderful! I can almost smell fermenting apples, rotting wood, and smoke. 
    Petals falling like delicate drops of blood.
     
    I really enjoyed this! Thanks! Steph
     

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  3.  
     
    @Craig
    There\’s a voice from the past (like I have any right to complain)! Things are things here which is to say they are in flux… it seems to be a trend of late. I\’m sorry about your hayfever. The humidex is 41 degrees today and the ragweed is about to bloom so we should be catching up with you in a week or two. I haven\’t been up to much. I\’ve been doing some keyword copy writing for web sites (not too much but enough to see what it\’s about) and I had a short entry published in a local travel quarterly…more space filler than anything else. The garden is monstrously weedy and I really need to get a lot more focused on the art side of things. That\’s all the news that is news. How are things across "the pond" other than the hayfever? Are you enjoying being a homeowner?
    Cheers,
    L
    XOX
     
    @Edgy Kay (Pomegranate sweet)
    My goodness girl! You flatter me. I\’m heading out east on a road trip soon. Hopefully I\’ll have something a smidgen more "salty" to write about. I hope you\’re feeling better. I know it\’s been a tough go for you the last little bit. You\’re in my thoughts always.
    Take care,
    L
     
    @Steph
    I can still smell the pungent aroma of fermenting apples every time I walk by the wood pile. The farmer who purchased the acreage behind my house (adding to his formidable 2000 acres) has spent the last two nights burning off the old apple orchard that they bulldozed last summer. It\’s like the end of an era now that our tree is gone. Next year I think I might replant a small offering at the back of our poor acre. It seems like a fitting memorial.
    Lorna
    =)

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  4. Copy EdgyKay\’s comment and then add it is about time . I think that without you writing it is akin to a gear within the blog machine . I can\’t seem to get my pen to spill anything and since I cannot find anyone but you to blame you will have to suffer this burden . Well I guess I could always blame my self …. I was thinking …..ridiculous..? Well you will have to keep writing . Enjoy the East!! Say Hi to Jesus , Mary , Joseph and The Captain for me ! Thanks Toad.
                                                          

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  5. @Toad
    I\’m back from my bum numbing drive to the coast and I said hey to Jesus, Mary and Joesph but I couldn\’t greet the Captain because we didn\’t get as far as The Rock. My shoes are stained with the red dirt of PEI, I\’ve coasted the heights of the Cabot Trail, felt the spray as the salt water crashed on the rocks below the lighthouse at Peggy\’s Cove and walked on the ocean floor during low tide on the Bay of Fundy. There wasn\’t time for anything else so The Rock will have to wait.
    Both you and Kay are very generous with the compliments but I don\’t know that I\’m any of that. Blame me if you want but I\’ll hold you in my heart with affection anyway ;P Now you need to get writing so we can catch up on all that\’s new in Toad World.
    =)
    L

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  6. You are such a gifted writer, Lorna — you make me want to go back to my blog and start writing things as I used to- these snapshots of nature and beauty. How talented you are…

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  7. PEI and and The Cabot Trail were east enough to meet the Captain . The Captain is Captain Morgan . It is the fuel that drives the massive hearts of easteners  lol 

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  8. Hey Lorna, hope all is well in the Canuk world. Just saying hi, hope to stay in touch more regularly than our sporadic bi-monthly comments lol. Im now on Myspace AND Facebook, spreading myself thin I know lol. Take care, Craig xx

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  9. You certainly do paint such a vivid picture with your writing!  I can see the tree, smell the apples and the wood burning, hear the chainsaw and the howl of the wolf… it\’s as if I were standing there in person… you have such an amazing talent!

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