It was a blue moon New Year’s Eve. There was a second full moon at the tail end of December, giving us a big, glowing orb in the sky to welcome in 2010. It was hidden by dark clouds in the early part of the night. Then they parted to show its full shape. I liked that. Mysterious, I thought. Most years, there are 12 full moons. Once in a while, once in a blue moon, there are 13. Why is this moon called blue? I can’t find out. Farming, which once upon a time was the work of everyone, was once linked to the moon and its cycles, just as it was linked to the wind and the rain and the sun and the earth from which the bounty sprouted. The ecclesiastical calendar is linked to the moon. A blue moon makes me think of crop circles and Stonehenge, of people looking up at the sky, worrying about it, assessing it, needing its kindness to survive. It makes me think of other times when we knew so much less, when myth and legend and folk stories were close and real. Once in a blue moon has come to mean every once in a while. Not predictable. In our day of cell phones and google earth and skype, what’s not predictable, what’s not run to ground and found and photographed? Who can escape? Who can hide? What are the mysteries?
I need mystery. Do you?