Friday, 4 September 2009
Rising from the trees, the last full moon of summer seems to signal the commencement of a masque. This moon is the soul of dreams and shows. Natural theatre, which takes place in darkness, gathers from its light a phenomenal shape and action. Pepys in his garden with his flageolet also saw this. The silly dusk turns blue then deep black as the glass moon rises lizard green shading into tangerine (Marvell's orange lamp) above the crushed grass spot where the brown cat earlier curled up grooming, in another act of the play, many years ago; and the ground is still warm, and the wide timeless night comes on at walking pace, whispering its lines, almost audible this once from where you are in the cheap seats if you tilt your head just right.
Full moon in Bangalore: photo by netlancer2006, 2007