Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. ~ Rachel Carson
The other night I was walking along and looked up into the night sky to see a woman in the clouds -- nude, as if posing for a sketch or a photo or just reclined there against black velvet, sighing into the atmosphere. She had one leg flung outward, the other pulled inward, knee bent. The almost-full moon shone as her navel. It was so beautiful and such a distinct form that I raced home for the camera and raced back to that place as fast as my little legs could carry me, but she was gone. The drifting clouds had shifted her all to pieces by the time I returned. I took some pictures anyway, but I really wanted to capture what I saw.
"The moon is moving away as you read this, by about 1.6 inches (4 centimeters) a year. Eventually this drift will force the moon to take 47 days to circle our world." --Space.com
Last night was the Full Wolf Moon. I'd hoped to see it again tonight, but the night is pea soup. Clouds crying curtains of drizzle. The moon is up there though. I can feel it. I walked and walked, hoping for a glimpse. And then I had to pee. That hurting kind, like when you drink too much soda in the movie theater and start twisting around because you want to wait it out because you're afraid you'll miss something and won't be able to find your seat in the dark. So I slipped into the dark woods and slipped my bum out of my "technical" fabric -- quickly, hurry, hurry! I could hear the creek down in the ravine and the rain spatting on my coat and feel the moisture rolling off of leaves and stabbing at my bare ass with icy jabs. Little damp fern hands wet my thighs and I tipped my head back, way back, and howled softly, letting go of something, some kind of sweetness, on the light side of the moon.
I feel your heat before you ever touch me.
Feel your aura fluttering gold like the quaking aspen leaves overhead. Wings beating black. Wide-reaching arms, outstretched, muscles taught and lusting for blood, wanting to be fed.
Flung out like a net to snare, strike, and spread me wide against the rough landscape.
The thick winter quilt is damp moss, a heavy green blanket of it shifted under thigh as I bend, silently, to your fingers, you lifting the lacy black edges, slapping white flesh to pink. My desire drips, steaming atop leaf litter and spores. Sticky and sweet. Taste me up here. And down there. Lick my syrup from your lips. Wring me out.
Oh my. Mind my manners. Slide against me. Grind my rough edges. Prick me pretty with your heat. I am yours. Say it. Unbutton me. Dive for my pearl. Shiny. Soft. Hot. Wet. Rise against my buzzing hive, stinging, winged passion.
Don’t be careful. Push your tongue deep and love me for what’s inside. Lust me for what’s soft. Want me for what’s hard. Desire me for what’s never been so perfect. Fuck me for what’s wet and shining with bright, fluorescent need. Need for you. Need for this. Here. Now. Tonight.
My fingers slide in and out of reality. Touching myself while you pleasure me with your tongue, your mouth and our hands exploring the place where two become one. Where one becomes. Where one. Where. Two. None. All. Night. Long.
Still obsessing over those yellow moon Meyer lemons that are so yummy and currently in season, like the wolf moon! This quick citrus-brightened breakfast dish will have you howling, moon or no moon. Promise.
Poached Mojo Poached egg with smoked salmon & lemon cream
Mix a little sour cream with a squeeze of Meyer lemon and some freshly ground pepper
Poach a pretty egg just the way you like it. Slide it onto a plate. Top with smoked salmon, lemon cream, and a sprinkling of fresh Parmesan (if desired) Garnish with a crescent moon lemon slice
(Very tasty with sourdough toast, a pot of french press, and a bloody Mary served with spicy beans)