Vintage Tumblr Themes
Luna, lopsided. Telling time; filling and draining, like an hour glass, turned over and over. A sea of cricket call suspends her there. A circular sound, as Wheels turning; seasons turning. A layered, ancient music, like the depth and breadth of the stars. They chant toward the death of Summer. They chant toward their own silencing. Luna waxes and wanes like the doing of dishes or folding of laundry; like the comings and goings of a car from a driveway. Like the passing of time that grows a child or changes a face. Mine is like millions of other upturned moonlit faces, asking prayers. Hoping my call is heard and answered. The stars we see around Luna sent that light long ago, and may have long since died. Each star is a cricket call.