So, it’s a full moon tonight

Tonight is a full moon. The Ojibwe call it Berry Moon; the Lakota, Harvest. Tomorrow night is the Perseids Meteor Shower. Unfortunately, the local forecast is dominated by rain and cloudiness both tonight and tomorrow night. So, enjoy the picture below, of a full August moon from nine years ago.

full moon, August 2013

Photo by J. Harrington

The latest issue of Trout magazine arrived yesterday. Much of it is about women and fly-fishing and conservation. I’m more please with what Trout Unlimited is doing these days than I am with many of the other conservation organizations I support. Follow the link above and take a look around. I think you’ll find it worthwhile and it may even prompt you to consider joining.

   You probably aren’t aware that this year is the 50th anniversary of the publication of Limits to Growth. As might be expected, there’s a variety of analyses regarding the prescience of the initial computer model outputs. This one, from the journal nature, is helpful. One of the things I most like about the direction in which Trout Unlimited is moving is it appears to encompass many of the critical elements of living with the complex systems of planetary life without excessively stressing them, all the while emphasizing enjoying what nature offers. We, and our home planet, need more of that. Alice Oswald could just as well be speaking of Earth when she writes “And what she's really after is you to love her.” 

Full-Length Portrait of the Moon

By Alice Oswald

She could be any woman at all, 

caught off-guard on-guard. 

With her hands stroking or strangling and maybe 

with her intentions half-interred. 

But she is as she is. Her gaze is always 

filing away at its cord. 

And what she's really after 

is you to love her. 

She forgets who she is. 

She could be so small 

she almost has no smell. 

She feels like anyone at all. 

When you walk up to her, 

she keeps quite still, 

but what she answers to 

is never loud enough to know. 

Eaten away by outwardness, 

her eyes are empty. 

They could be watching you 

or not. They work indifferently, 

like lit-up glass and if you ask 

why she won't speak, why should she? 

When what she really wants 

is silence. 

You know what women are like: 

Kay, Moira, Sandra. 

They move through a dark room, 

peering round under 

the hoods of their names. 

Alcestis, Clytemnestra. 

She could be either of those. 

She scarcely knows. 

She goes on thinking something 

just over your shoulder. 

This could be the last night 

before you lose her. 

But what's the use 

of saying one thing or another. 

When what she's really after 

is you to love her.

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