A bandonments …

 »They are coming to get you.«

The black sheep is looking up into the sky.

»They are close now. And when they arrive I will ask you to take me with you.«

Who is coming to get me? I ask myself, but I am not surprised that the strange mammal seems to be reading my mind.

»Your female friend and her offspring.«

Kylie, I think.

»If that is what you call her. Can you feel it through the stormy and rainy clouds?

»That they are coming to get me?« I ask kind of confused.

»No, can you feel the legendary thirteenth full moon in this year full of wonders and catastrophes?«

»I don't believe you, demon-sheep. There are only twelve months. How can there be thirteen full moons in one year if every month has got only one?«

»The blue moon«, the sheep's voice has gotten all dreamy and soft, »the most powerful of them all, being an additional full moon that appears in a subdivision of a year as the third of four full moons in a season. And you let it slip away without using it for my good.«

It is so frustrating, like spinning in circles around and around. I don't know what the animal is talking about.

»It has been too long since I have last seen the green hills of my home island. Your green hills are nothing compared to it, Bromford Bibble. And I cannot wait to hear the centaurs again singing in the pale full moon lights.«

Are there thirteen round lights dancing in the square pupils of the sheep's wet eyes? And can I almost feel infrasonic sound waves rising up from the ground into my feet and body being the musical vocalization of the beings the sheep just called centaurs?

»Greenlion, Bromford Bibble«, the animal is almost pleading. »Take me with you to the circle of stones and open the gate to my old home, the great island of Greenlion for me.«

Greenlion? Not a green lion, I guess. The sunken land and island the man we used to call Professor Burnside or Professor Sideburns was talking about? Nothing but fairytales and mysteries on unreadable treasure maps, I suppose.

»Don't let the next full moon pass by unused«, the sheep demands. »And stop thinking about me as a sheep! I am a faun, for all the gods sake!«

Bored of the life in the City of Gold

He'd left and let nobody know.

Gone were the towers he had known from a child,

Alone with the dream of a life

He travelled the wide open road,

The blinkered arcade,

In search of another to share in his life.

Nowhere.

Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail

They don't even know of our existence.

Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold

That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage

Beast that can talk, read the sign.

The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame

And questioned his story again.

But soon they grew bored of their prey

Beast that can talk?

More like a freak or publicity stunt.

Oh

No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail

They don't even know of our existence.

Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold

That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.

He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:

There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination

Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.

🌕🌕
🌕🌕🌕🌕
🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕
🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕
🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕
🌕🌕🌕🌕
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Today is Thursday, the 31st of August 2023.

Blue Moon