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Smiles of an October Night
Oct. 27th, 2005 06:08 amOnce it rose, the moon was a Cheshire Cat grin, repeatedly appearing and vanishing among the misty clouds. By standing in the right spot, I could make it seem to be hovering above a tree branch. It failed to speak a single word, though, and never showed its eyes. I did see the eyes of two raccoons. As I stood on the porch, I heard leaves rustling and tree bark being scratched, so I turned my flashlight in that direction and saw he two beasts, side by side in the crotch of the mulberry tree, about twenty feet away. Raccoons are not particularly excitable creatures, so they simply stopped their movement and stared at me, their eyes glittering with reflected light. What they were doing in a fruitless mulberry tree I don't know, but I figured it was their business, so I turned out the light and went back indoors so they could go about it undisturbed.
As the clouds have persisted, the night did not become as cold as I had expected, and it was pleasant to stand watching the moon and observing the silhouettes of the oaks, which grow increasingly intricate as the trees shed their foliage. The trees always look best on nights when there are thin clouds to spread the moonlight abroad, providing a bright backdrop for the branches. The leaves rustled only now and then, as when one would fall, the cool air being quite still. The misted moonlight was never powerful enough to cast shadows. All the insects have fallen silent at last, taking with them the last echo of summer. Autumnal serenity has settled upon us, and fields and woods lie dark and mysterious, their quiet nocturnal denizens descried only by owls and soaring nighthawks. For me, the land is occult, revealed but by rare sounds and the pervasive scents of damp soil and grass and wood. I grin back at the sly moon.
As the clouds have persisted, the night did not become as cold as I had expected, and it was pleasant to stand watching the moon and observing the silhouettes of the oaks, which grow increasingly intricate as the trees shed their foliage. The trees always look best on nights when there are thin clouds to spread the moonlight abroad, providing a bright backdrop for the branches. The leaves rustled only now and then, as when one would fall, the cool air being quite still. The misted moonlight was never powerful enough to cast shadows. All the insects have fallen silent at last, taking with them the last echo of summer. Autumnal serenity has settled upon us, and fields and woods lie dark and mysterious, their quiet nocturnal denizens descried only by owls and soaring nighthawks. For me, the land is occult, revealed but by rare sounds and the pervasive scents of damp soil and grass and wood. I grin back at the sly moon.
