On the 15th of April we looked for the blood moon. It was hiding behind the clouds…when finally through the haze I saw it.
Pink. A pink I’ve never seen on a Barby doll’s dress or on a rose. Filtered behind the haze it gleamed softly…not bright enough to photograph. Shy and timid, like a newborn thing from the wilderness, the pink of a living thing.
A south-easterly wind was whipping up the sea, and pushing me back and forth on the sand dune…no way to hold the camera steady even when I leaned against a post.
Lights danced on the headland…and down on the beach where people gathered to see the blood moon and lunar eclipse…children lost patience and ran about in the dunes … their parents calling after them in the fading light.
We turned our backs on the wind and walked to the car.
“I’m glad we did that,” I said as the darkness deepened and Julie started the car.
“Me too,” she said. When we got home we could see the pale moon in the sky and a sliver of darkness beginning to form around it’s edge like ink invading blotting paper.
Out in front of the house…over the tree tops the moon is no longer pink or red. It’s bloodless and pale and silver.
When I checked the shots on the camera…only one was still enough to post. The moon, rough, dark and red like the ember from a cigarette glowing in a dark place.
The wind had picked up and was blowing harder from the southeast and it was cozy being inside.
The dog curled up and dropped her head between her paws with a sigh. She was happy to have us home.