»Do you think it is really up there?« I ask standing at the door to the roof-terrace of my penthouse apartment above the fifteenth floor of the building on 666, Whitaker Lane, in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside. Did I really once write it was above the fiftieh floor? I am afraid of heights. With shady twirly thoughts I am looking through the glass at the grey, cloudy sky.
The llama is lying on the couch chewing on a crust of bread.
»What do you mean, dude?«
»The moon, animal. I am talking about the moon. It's the Snow Moon and it must be full somewhere up there in the sky behind all those dark clouds.«
»Do you still think there's something magical in a cycle of twelve full-moons?«
The animal is scratching its back against the backrest of the couch.
The llama is lying on the couch chewing on a crust of bread.
»What do you mean, dude?«
»The moon, animal. I am talking about the moon. It's the Snow Moon and it must be full somewhere up there in the sky behind all those dark clouds.«
»Do you still think there's something magical in a cycle of twelve full-moons?«
The animal is scratching its back against the backrest of the couch.
»You don't really think mentioning the names of the different moons will magically open doors to other worlds and you will meet a faun called Mr. Tumbleweed disguised as a black sheep again, do you, human?«
»Don't be silly.«
As it starts raining I am returning to my armchair and my mug of tea, Earl Grey, hot.
»The faun was fiction, just a flick of my imagination. The Snow Moon is the last full-moon of winter, isn't it?«
The llama is now bouncing up and down with all four legs on the couch now. In not so past times this would have bothered me but I hardly notice that it does not bother me now.
»Doesn't feel like winter to me, dude.«
»It's a very early and stormy spring out there, animal. We are getting close to seasons' end. I heard somebody say, that it might never snow again in Bromford. I miss the snow, animal. I miss the snow.«
Like lots of many times before the llama is leaving the living room not without another sarcastic remark.
»You are a lunatic, Bromford Bibble. Don't forget to take your pills and potions.«
»Don't be silly.«
As it starts raining I am returning to my armchair and my mug of tea, Earl Grey, hot.
»The faun was fiction, just a flick of my imagination. The Snow Moon is the last full-moon of winter, isn't it?«
The llama is now bouncing up and down with all four legs on the couch now. In not so past times this would have bothered me but I hardly notice that it does not bother me now.
»Doesn't feel like winter to me, dude.«
»It's a very early and stormy spring out there, animal. We are getting close to seasons' end. I heard somebody say, that it might never snow again in Bromford. I miss the snow, animal. I miss the snow.«
Like lots of many times before the llama is leaving the living room not without another sarcastic remark.
»You are a lunatic, Bromford Bibble. Don't forget to take your pills and potions.«
🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕
🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕
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Today is Saturday, the 24th of February 2024.
Snow Moon
Yes, I′m being followed by a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
And if I ever lose my hands
Lose my plow, lose my land
Moonshadow, moonshadow
Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow
And if I ever lose my hands
Lose my plow, lose my land
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