The lunatic sits under the firmament, waiting for the appointed time.
Tonight, both sides of the moon dark. A blood-moon. Blood cries from sky as well as the ground.
In a little patch of pasture grass between stands of pine, darkness falls slowly then all at once. Thunder off to the northwest, air heavy but cool. Sky thick with clouds.
The first lightning-bugs of the year hover along the tree line. A visage that once meant empty pickle jars with hole-poked lids. Remembered days of daisy chains and laughs. Does it mean anything now?
We are refugees from Babel. Once sky-gazers, mumbling in strange tongues. Huddled by fires against the darkness outside animal-skinned shelters. Looking for a sign from the sky. Now screen-gazers huddled inside, forsaking all but strange truths.
The appointed time passes, and the clouds will not part.
The Book says “A wicked and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign.”
The bulldog sighs.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go to bed.”
6 thoughts on “The Lunatic”
This was me last night at 10:20 p.m. as I watched the Moon get covered in darkness yet still having that erie Siena glow to it. And then off to bed with the Cattle Dog. No lunatics about that I could see in these parts. A nice read, Ray.
Thanks Leisa. Glad you got to see it.
I’m very impressed with your writing abilities! This is awesome!!!
Thank you Brenda. You are very kind.
I always enjoy the spot-on imagery of your musings. I leave with a peaceful smile in my heart.
Thank you, that means a lot to me for you to say that. There’s a little bit of you in every sentence (at least the good ones).