camera-obscura: an apache moon night and the black mare's song
by on Jun.20, 2010, under LAMP
When the moon gets to the point that it looks like the moon on our painted pony’s left flank, we say it’s an Apache Moon… and we have one of those this evening. the moon is a bit over half full, and lying on its back, as Isak Dinesen wrote in her book Out of Africa:
If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me? November Hill’s evening song today included pulling out spent squash plants to make room for new ones, being joined by two donkeys and a black mare who love to help weed, finding the toad prince in the barn aisle, and listening to back Porch Music on NPR while the horses ate their dinner tubs.
The best part of tonight’s song happened as my husband and I, along with Dickens E. Wickens, cowboy cat, walked the path from barn to back gate. my husband called out good night to the equines, and Salina whinnied in response: wait – something’s not right.
So we turned and went back to the barn, realizing that Rafer Johnson had not been turned out with the herd. he was standing by the gate to the front field, and Salina was letting us know we needed to come let him out.
The black mare knows the song of being a mother, and we have learned to listen when she sings.
camera-obscura: an apache moon night and the black mare's song
