One Moonlit Night
Through a little gate at the bottom of the garden is a buttercup meadow, where a fox I named Finbar often frequented. He was aware of my presence as I felt his stare, but knowing my scent had no fear of me. I watched as he stretched out his length in the sunshine, I could see his long ears and his elliptical eyes. I named him Finbar, for a name makes a difference, be it a person or an animal, don’t deal with them as strangers but as friends.
As I ascended to the top of a ridge, the countryside stretched away on every hand far beyond my eyes, all was quiet, just the sound of the blackbird, its call being the curfew of the parting day like the clear sound of the ringing church bell. There was so much to feel and see everywhere but soon as the warm gift of the sun faded away and with little earthlight I lost the detail. However, the honeysuckle was in flower, its long streamers trailing from above scented the coming night air. As I reflected in the moment I paused and immersed myself as the moonlight began to flood the land, streaming from the sky over fields of be-whiskered barley and bathing a tortuous water course in light. The moon is enigmatic and fascinating in every phase, as I marvelled at the beauty and brightness of its yellow light. Everything was just crafted perfection.
A cloud of starlings swiftly passed my way, then suddenly out of the darkness came a little sparrow who settled in a tortured ash tree, one that had seen much human passing. Although we are but dust on the hourglass of eternity, the old ash tree is rooted in time. The sparrow was so calm and poised yet so at home with himself, gazing at the beauty of the brilliant light. I listened to his voice streaming, fleeting through strangled chords, determined not to rush and stay his haste, singing fitfully, only pausing when the moon hid amongst the clouds, determined to sing his four songs each and every minute.
I must now take my leave of Moon the sparrow and let him give his all to the mystical light. As I lamented and walked in deep thought, I tried to grasp the feelings of this insignificant little fellow, for being alone has such a profound and vivid symbol of deep loneliness. With hope and a little faith, the moonlight may someday reach him, for there is a positive in every being, a light at the end of the tunnel, one which was in my minds’ eye long before a flicker appeared and became a constant flux of light throughout my life.
I was awakened from sleep by the faint hooting of the Tawny Owls in the distance as they returned to the old oak tree on the outer fringes of the wood. As I made my way to the top of the lane the moon had disappeared in a slight haze and the sky was lightening where the rising sun began spilling light over the land. Pre-dawn is a fascinating time to be outdoors, the short period between darkness and sunrise is when the light is pure perfection, when artists and photographers are inspired to capture this magical scene, and all is silent. The pink and mauve sky was shining over the fields of amber grain where a crescendo of birdsong can now be heard. Mother nature never ceases to amaze, for when we try to pick out anything by itself, we realise that all is intrinsically meshed to everything else in nature.
I believe that filtered education has the power to domesticate and persuade us for power and control, demising our creative intelligence and shutting down our sense of wonder. However, emotional intelligence creates critical thinking, one which affects both the heart and the mind. We then begin to learn that academia does not teach us about life, for I truly believe that the most important days of our lives are when we are born and the day we find out why.
