Full Corn Moon …

 
This year's September moon is not the Harvest Moon, thought Twenty-Five, the little tawny owl. But it is still a Full Corn Moon. And it is a very special moon. They call it a 'blood Moon' or a full lunar eclipse.

I might like to call it a night, wherever you are on this blue planet of ours. But a blue moon is something completely different. Maybe tonight  you will discover the waters of Moon.

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Tonight is Sunday, the 7th of September, 2025.

Full Corn Moon

Sister Moon, will be my guide
In your blue, blue shadows, I would hide
All good people, asleep tonight
I′m all by myself, in your silver light
I would gaze at your face the whole night through
I'd go out of my mind, but for you
I′d go out of my mind, but for you


Lying in a mother's arms
The primal root of a woman's charms
I′m a stranger to the sun
My eyes are too weak

How cold is a heart
When it′s warmth that he seeks?
You watch every night, you don't care what I do
I′d go out of my mind, but for you
I'd go out of my mind, but for you

My mistress′s eyes are nothing like the sun
My hunger for her explains everything I've done

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 385 & Part 386

Today is Thursday, the 4th of September, 2025

 
Once Friedrich Nietzsche said, To live is to suffer, to survive is to find meaning in the suffering, said Twenty-Five, the little tawny owl.

To suffer is to meet more and more cats, said the eighteen bats.

Wait till the mice and rats arrive, said the owl.

Our guru means, cats are archenemies to mice and rats, the chicks tried to explain.

No, no, no, said the caterpillars, rats and cats cannot be archenemies. They rhyme and what rhymes is always good.

Twenty-Five took a deep breath. Autumn is coming, he thought. Is autumn any good for cats or rats?

Let's Fats, shouted all sixteen cats with tears of joy. Let's Fats all cats and rats.

And nobody noticed how and when four dragon cats joined the twenty-seven hacker cats, the nineteen stunt cats, the eleven ninja-cats, the three pouting cats, the twenty-six crying cats, the eighteen weary cats, the ten kissing cats, the two cats with wry smiles, the twenty-four smiling cats with heart-eyes, the sixteen cats with tears of joy, the eight grinning cats with smiling eyes, the thirty-one grinning cats, the twenty-three spiders, the fifteen scorpions, the seven ladybugs, the twenty-nine bees, the twenty-one ants, the thirty crickets, the twenty-two mosquitoes, the fourteen caterpillars, the six snails, the twenty-six butterflies, the eighteen bats, the ten more chicks, the two chicks, the twenty-five chicks, the seventeen penguins, the nine little red birds, and the one little tawny owl…

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"Bromford 1997"

Que paso que paso?
A caipira planto
Que paso que paso?
A policia llego
Que paso que paso?
O semterra murio
Que paso que paso?
Chacinha no Bromford
Que paso que paso?
A globo relato
Que paso que paso?
O politico falo
Que paso que paso?
En pizza acabo
Que paso que paso?
Chacinha no Bromford
Que paso que paso?
Radio bemba relato1

 

"Bromford"

In the crystal ball the gypsy sees the villa
The riders on the hill, the fire in the fields
She sees the mission bell swinging in the silence
Now the shooting starts, the bullets pierce the hearts
The senoritas crying at the well

Up in the Gold Hotel the money hits the table
The heavies all are there, that's why the deal's going down
Beautiful women all dressed in diamonds and sable
Down upon the street beside a garbage heap
A mariachi band begins to play

Somewhere a blues guitar plays echoes in the alleyway
The Tijuana dawn claims another day
The golden sun rises on the runway
The pilot understands, the money changes hands
Inside the jet, the briefcase snaps goodbye

In Bromford town there lives a great bullfighter
His eyes are screaming blue, his hair is red as blood
And when the gate goes up, the crowd gets so excited
And he comes dancing out dressed in gold lamé
He kills the bull and lives another day

Bromford and Woodpecker …

 

… and as the wind opened the window the ghost disappeared together with the swaying curtains.

- The End -

»That was the damn finest novel I have ever read or listened to«, the llama whispers in awe. »I told the cloned mammoth lady you were writing a novel but I thought it would be some kind of fake and boring autobiography. And I never thought it would be that good.«

»I would say it is lacking at least one kind of bird as a protagonist - let's say a woodpecker«, said the blue woodpecker.

»Let me guess, bird«, the llama adds sarcastically, »and you would call it 'Woody'.«

»Why not?« asks the red woodpecker. »Woody Woodpecker is the most famous of all woodpeckers. He is our hero.«

»And that extraordinary laugh of him.«

The blue woodpecker is dreamily rolling her eyes.

»How much wood would a woodpecker peck if a woodpecker could peck wood?«

The llama is also rolling its eyes but not in a dreamy way.

I am shaking my head annoyed by the direction this blockblog post is taking.

»As much wood as a woodpecker would peck, if a woodpecker would peck wood«, the red woodpecker says.

»Always these repetitions!« suddenly the llama complains. »How much repetitions would a repetitor repeat if a repetitor would repeat repetitions?«

»But your nose is way too pointy«, the blue bird says to me.

Then she flies away and starts drumming and pecking and drilling holes into the kitchen cupboard.

»Are there any more birds on your list of possible future animal-companions?« the llama wants to know.

»Only one, two, three or four«, I say.

And after all I close my laptop on this very early Monday morning.

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Today is Monday, the 1st of September, 2025.