Just musing

I was lying in bed last night pondering on the day and events and life in general as I normally do before sleep. I was thinking about journals and how this time last year I did not even know they existed.  When I first started,  my journal was very basic and I really did not think anyone would want to read anything I had to say.  I almost gave up after three entries but received enough support to make me decide I wanted to continue.

Now I look forward to opening my journal every morning and reading comments from the previous day.  This got me to thinking about how many people read our journals that we never know about, those unseen readers who do not make their presence felt.  People that choose, for whatever reasons, not to comment. We all have them I am sure.  Twice in recent weeks I suddenly received comments from "names" that I had never heard of. I always acknowledge new commenters and ask if they have their own journals. I am happy to say that I have now made two very good new friends through this happening.  At the moment, their journals are private and I feel privileged that I have been invited to read their work. 

Journals seem to draw people together, they do say that like attracts like.  So Colleen and Shelley, I thank God for your friendship, I like your journals very much.

I was also lying  looking at the moon.  The curtains were drawn but the light was so bright that I felt compelled to rise, open the curtains and have a look.  I was suddenly reminded of when I was a child.  In those days with the big old fashioned sash windows, people only put a net curtain at the bottom half so through the top you got a clear and uninterrupted view of the sky.  As a child I would lie in bed and watch the passage of the moon across the dark sky and I was always fascinated by it. I found it beautiful then, I find it beautiful now.  I thought of that poem by Noyes where one of the lines reads "the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas" - I have always loved that particular line and the way it describes the transit of the moon so perfectly.  The poem is The Highwayman and one of my favourite narrative pieces.  Many of you will know it, for those of you who do not, I will post it I you request me to do so.

My favourite poem about the moon is by Walter de la Mare.  Such a well known piece but I am going to post it here right now because I love it so and because the moon is so much on my mind after last night.

SILVER

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Here is another quote from a poem about the moon, this one written by W.H. Davies.

"Thy beauty haunts me, heart and soul,
Oh thou fair Moon, so close and bright;
Thy beauty makes me like the child,
That cries aloud to own thy light;
The little child that lifts each arm
To press thee to her bosom warm."

Well, I suppose I had better stop musing and daydreaming and get on with some housework. But first, a nice cup of tea!