Sharing a good poem.
remember the sunshine lasting until late in the night?
There are plenty of week ahead resources out there (the CHANI podcast is a good one), so I thought it might be more fun to read a focused interpretation of one dynamic in the sky.
Full Moon in Leo at noon ET on 1/25/24: Something about the Full Moon in Leo feels hot even though there is still last week’s ice on the ground.
It’s a funny paradox that the fruits of whatever you planted under the Leo New Moon in August are harvested under Saturn’s Aquarius Sun. The Moon is in Leo, shining the Sun’s light back to him where he’s uncomfortably waiting out the winter. In Philadelphia it’s happening right in the middle of the day, just after noon, when the winter rays emit the maximum of whatever heat they’ve got to give.
Hopefully you can think back to summer days when you might have been tired of sweating, might have been tired of the mosquitos and the noise that comes from crowds of people seeking beaches and pools and air conditioning. The lunar cycles are especially good for remembering and reflecting (ha), tying together oppositional seasons and oppositional sensations.
I don’t mean to suggest you ought to just… wait for the warmth to return. But if you are itching for later sunsets and warmer winds, try to enjoy the light from the Moon the next few nights. She’s shining on you from summertime, a reminder.
It’s cold and I’m soooo tired.
Sometimes it is okay to hand off thinking to a poem that is so good and that perfectly articulates what you are yearning for (the charm of 5:30). If you like this poem, David Berman’s book is called Actual Air and it’s got many others just as good.
The Charm of 5:30 by David Berman
It’s too nice a day to read a novel set in England. We’re within inches of the perfect distance from the sun, the sky is blueberries and cream, and the wind is as warm as air from a tire. Even the headstones in the graveyard seem to stand up and say “Hello! My name is...” It’s enough to be sitting here on my porch, thinking about Kermit Roosevelt, following the course of an ant, or walking out into the yard with a cordless phone to find out she is going to be there tonight. On a day like today, what looks like bad news in the distance turns out to be something on my contact, carports and white courtesy phones are spontaneously reappreciated and random “okay”s ring through the backyards. This morning I discovered the red tints in cola when I held a glass of it up to the light and found an expensive flashlight in the pocket of a winter coat I was packing away for summer. It all reminds me of that moment when you take off your sunglasses after a long drive and realize it’s earlier and lighter out than you had accounted for. You know what I’m talking about, and that’s the kind of fellowship that’s taking place in town, out in the public spaces. You won’t overhear anyone using the words “dramaturgy” or “state inspection” today. We’re too busy getting along. It occurs to me that the laws are in the regions and the regions are in the laws, and it feels good to say this, something that I’m almost sure is true, outside under the sun. Then to say it again, around friends, in the resonant voice of a nineteenth-century senator, just for a lark. There’s a shy looking fellow on the courthouse steps, holding up a placard that says “But, I kinda liked Clinton.” His head turns slowly as a beautiful girl walks by, holding a refrigerated bottle up against her flushed cheek. She smiles at me and I allow myself to imagine her walking into town to buy lotion at a brick pharmacy. When she gets home she’ll apply it with great lingering care before moving into her parlor to play 78 records and drink gin-and-tonics beside her homemade altar to James Madison. In a town of this size, it’s certainly possible that I’ll be invited over one night. In fact I’ll bet you something. Somewhere in the future I am remembering today. I’ll bet you I’m remembering how I walked into the park at five thirty, my favorite time of day, and how I found two cold pitchers of just poured beer, sitting there on the bench. I am remembering how my friend Chip showed up with a catcher’s mask hanging from his belt and how I said great to see you, sit down, have a beer, how are you, and how he turned to me with the sunset reflecting off his contacts and said, wonderful, how are you.
From Actual Air (Drag City, 2003) by David Berman Copyright © 2003 by David Berman.
Always a lot of credit goes to the people who have been my teachers, both directly and through their freely shared knowledge, and so many books.