Now the full harvest moon glides up from behind the ridge, the archetypal smiley face. I will not be alone tonight. I will celebrate my personal harvest, the accomplishments of summer just fading. I will wrap myself in the orange glow from my friend, my companion, and hold that shine in my soul to warm me from the inside out. The moon and I are wide awake.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What ephemeral things are flitting through your life now?
• How does the full moon speak to you?
• What is your harvest this season?

DOWNLOADABLE AFFIRMATION CARD

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Bask beneath other moons here.

Murmurs On The Land

A distant crow makes an announcement,
and tall grasses sway in the breeze
as sparrows chatter in the spruce along the ridgeline.
A sudden wind pushes through alders and maples,
and accents the drone of unseen insects.
Apples plop to the ground, not quite ripe,
and a bee goes about her work near the herbs.
The creek tumbles through the woods,
and I say a prayer for Gaia.
My own song rises to greet the new moon,
and our renewal blooms in my heart.

In my ongoing mission to name each of the new moons this year, this September lunation I will call Crow Molt Moon.

Throughout August and September each year my jolly band of crows gift me with their feathers. I have hundreds of them now and I’m waiting for inspiration to use some of them in some special artwork. But for now, many of them reside in a basket (above) that hangs on the wall of my living room, surrounded by other crow art.

Gathering the feathers causes me to be selective, since some of them are in really bad shape—ragged evidence of gales overcome, thunderstorms survived. Perhaps I should keep some of those, too, for inspiration during my own challenges. Is it wrong to want only the pretty feathers? Or just societal brainwashing?

Crows offer their feathers to me nearly every day. Blacker than a moonless night, they remind me of the heights just fallen from. It’s as if each feather can be read, can tell a tale of adventure, of sunsets seen from flyways, of treetops slept in, of moonlight flown through, of sonatas written to the rhythm of their steady wing beats.

I write about crows a lot, as I feel a special bond with them. It isn’t their color, as I’m not drawn to black—though in strong sunlight there is often a deep purplish sheen to their glossy bodies. One reason I love them is they make me laugh with their never ending antics. Bunches of them always seem to be up to something, and hardly an hour goes by without a chorus of comments echoing across the hillside.

I also admire their bravado in defending their homes and their young. Even a single crow will take on a marauding eagle and send him back to his aerie. I see this all the time where I live, next to an eagle’s nest.

crows living dangerously video

CONTEMPLATIONS

• Are there things in your world that have been cast off yet still retain beauty and meaning?
• Is there something you need to shed from your life?
• What do you ceaselessly protect?

Flap around with other comic crows here.

So flagrantly does it bloom, that its stems and leaves nearly disappear, enhancing the impression of wind-tossed spray. Because it is just blooming now at the new moon, I’ve decided to call this lunation the Oceanspray Moon–may it breathe a fresh tanginess into your life.

At first it blushes along pale pink stems. Then as each floret opens, the stems fade to a mellow white. To discover its fragrance, I must tickle my nose in its gentle midst. It has a delicate scent, like forgotten handkerchiefs found in my grandmother’s dresser drawers, still tinted with her perfume.

Fuzzy in full bloom, it is a soft summer illusion of sea spray tossed far into the woods and high above the beach.

I want to sleep on a bed of this whimsical plant, enveloped by a million tiny blooms. I would dream of elemental spirits and dance with fairies beneath the new moon, our heads encircled with wreaths of oceanspray.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What illusions color your world?
• What tickles you?
• What fragrant memory wafts by you today?
• Have you seen any fairies lately?

DOWNLOADABLE AFFIRMATION CARD

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Dance under more moonlight here.

So my trusty dog and I set out this morning to see what we could see that we don’t normally see. It didn’t take long to find something special. I was specifically looking for something to inspire a full moon post, so it was perfect that I encountered a living moon snail. Until now, I have only found the bleached empty shells, never a live one. Though that isn’t exactly true, because last year I brought home a lovely white specimen and left it on my bathroom counter. The next day I was very started to see a hermit crab edging out of it. (I promptly whisked the crab outside and back to the beach!) The living snails are much more colorful and exciting to meet.

With a diameter of up to 5 inches, the moon snail is very distinctive. It likes to bury itself in the sand and hunt beneath the surface for unsuspecting clams—or perhaps they do suspect the moon snail and retreat as fast as they can. Clam shells found with a round hole drilled in them were probably devoured by moon snails. When the snail extends its fleshy mantle, it expands to many times the size of the shell. Then it can retreat back inside itself by squeezing out its water as it winds back inside. (Crabs will in turn hunt moon snails, so they are in the middle of the food chain, both predator and prey.) Attached to the body of the snail is a thin horn-like oval object called the operculum, which acts as a door which the snail shuts after itself once safely inside. Quite the clever design.

My other interesting sighting was a number of unusual moon snail sand collar egg cases. (Well unusual to me, anyway.) The eggs are actually sandwiched between two membranes made of sand and mucus and look like old pieces of industrial rubber about a foot in diameter. Moon snails are also found on Atlantic beaches, but our variety is Lewis’ moon snail, named for Meriwether Lewis, of the Lewis and Clark expedition, who returned with shell specimens from the mouth of the Columbia River on the Oregon/Washington border. Being one of the largest shells on these beaches, moon snails are always thrilling to find.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What protective mechanisms do you employ to retreat from threats?
• Are you able to withdraw from life when you need to renew yourself?
• Do you escape into some sort of shell? Would you like to?
• Do you ever sense that you’re part of a metaphorical food chain? Perhaps in your work life?
• How does that make you feel?
• What activities make you feel predatory?

Make friends with a different shell here.

Here in Washington state, we are famous for the prodigious rain that falls. So it won’t surprise you that most springs our many rivers roar down out of their snow-capped mountains, full, frothy and icy cold.

This spring I stood at the edge of such a river, the Dosewallips, which tumbles down from the Olympic Mountains through mixed woods of fir, alder and big leaf maple. I feel the energy, the power generated by the outpouring—even if it isn’t ever transposed into electricity. I attune myself to such life force, such vivacity, and inhale the highly ionized oxygen. Unlike the rhythm of the sea which often relaxes and soothes me, the relentless rushing of this river charges me up, as if I were a battery connected to its current.

I lie down on a mossy bank and dangle my hands into the water to feel the swift pressure of the river against my skin. Frigid spray ricochets off the rocks and stings my face, a new form of hydro massage. Leaves and alder cones rush by on their way to Hood Canal, each one a tiny boat at the mercy of the whimsical water. I roll over onto my back and savor the morning glow on the thick chartreuse fur that encases many alder trunks. I imagine that so much moss has an acoustic effect on the sound of the river, a softening of it, as these trees reach into the river for their sustenance.

Today begins another lunation, which I’m naming the High River Moon. It is about surges, energy, vitality and freshness. I hope you’ll invite its special light into your life.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What force is evident in your life now?
• What energizes you?
• Where do you feel most alive?
• Have you surrendered to the currents pulsing through your life, or do you feel you can control them?
• Will you tap into the new moon energy to enhance projects or ideas you are developing?

MEDITATION VIDEO

This is simply a few minutes beside the Dosewallips River, so you can experience it for yourself. Turn up the volume and immerse yourself…the water’s fine.

Visit the Dosewallips River in another season here.

This month the full moon blooms in the woods in the form of Palmate Coltsfoot, a disk-shaped white wildflower with pink tinges. I have spent so many hours staring at the full moon orb that I see its shape repeated over and over in nature: snowballs, jingle shells, agates, sand dollars, queen Anne’s lace and on and on. I have imprinted on the moon as if she was my mother, and together we’ve made a neural pathway through my brain. Of course I’ve already told you that I’m a Lunatic.

The clouds are breaking up now, so I hope I’ll be able to enjoy the full moonrise from the beach tonight—always an iffy thing here in the far northwest. If I see the big planting moon tonight, I’ll tell her about the culminations in my life that I’m celebrating, and I’ll ask her blessing for my ongoing projects.

I believe in the power of moonlight to connect us to our ancient past, to our archetypal selves who have always marked their lives by her turnings.

I adore dancing under the fullmoonlight, as it is bright enough to wander around outside, yet it has that magical quality of being cool, gentle—a whisper from another spinning orb heard at this intersection of time and space. It’s also a great time to meditate with bird allies, who are wide awake and chattering away. Add in the chorus of frogs near the lagoon and we have a full choir to sing up the moon. So go outside tonight and add some sparkle to your evening, and reach back in time to touch the heart of your ancestors who gazed in wonder at this same moon.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What do you think your ancestors saw?
• What do you see?
• What do you find special about moonlight?
• What fullness in your life can you celebrate and honor with gratitude?

MEDITATE ON A MOONRISE VIDEO

If you can’t see the real thing, here’s a substitute. This brief video shows the moonrise over Anacortes, a town in the San Juan Islands that I see lit up most nights across the Strait.

About 50 feet tall, deciduous with non-descript single-lobed leaves, they grow out of woods beside my house. I am sure they were not planted by design. I see them every day and yet have not bothered to take a stem of leaves and photos to a nursery for identification. It’s like repeatedly running into a neighbor at the store and never knowing her name but being too embarrassed to ask. I can’t go on living with strangers, so I made a point of it this week.

Now, after closer inspection, four of the them are definitely cherry trees, and by my guidebook, native bitter cherries. They have the distinctive glossy ribbon bark with horizontal bands and tiny luminous cherries in small clusters up high.

The fifth tree is different, with a dozen trunks branching out in a group at the ground. I have no excuse for not studying them sooner except that they grow at the bottom of a very steep slope that I have decided not to navigate any longer.

No-name no more! The glorious white tree is a native serviceberry tree, also called Saskatoon. I couldn’t go on communing with it without knowing its name.

Notes from this year:
The Saskatoon tree at the bottom of my hill has puffed into full fragrant white bloom. Delicate florets line each branch like butter cream facsimiles encircling a wedding cake. What a surprise! In summer it’s just a nondescript green tree of no real distinction, and in autumn the best it can do is molt to a dull yellow. But spring—in April, this once anonymous-to-me tree has become notable. Admirable. It has a few weeks to exude the joy of renewal and scent the air in sweet promises of fruition. I’ve known people like that, who live dormant lives until circumstances draw them into a latent, brief season of heady bloom. Then they recede into their quiet, ordinary lives, keeping one flower pressed between pages of a dictionary under F for fluke.

Have I had my heady season? I don’t want to be an aberration of nature; I want to flourish in all seasons. What about you?

As I wrote last month, this year I’m going to name each new moon, so today I pronounce this lunation Saskatoon Moon. With it’s delicate white blooms in full glory, this is perfect timing—plus it’s so fun to say…all together now: Saskatoon Moon. This April new moon carries the additional impetus of the freshness of spring, when so many things suddenly seem attainable. In that spirit I planted a dozen sunflowers today and will do my best to nurture more than one of them to full bloom this year—despite not really having enough sun or heat for them to flourish. But that’s no reason not to plant them and try to prove the gardening books wrong.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• Are there people or other natural beings in your life whose names who don’t know?
• Can you name all the trees in your vicinity? The shrubs? The flowers?
• Are you on a first-name basis with at least some trees in your neighborhood?
• Have you had your heady season in life? Are you trying for more?
• What things are you willing to try against someone else’s advice?
• Do you like pushing against the current?

DOWNLOADABLE AFFIRMATION CARD

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Find out more about the wild cherry trees here and how they serve as my calendar.

Bask under the light of last month’s new moon here: the Green Bud Moon.

With a five-pointed star centered inside a larger star, gracing a round white dome of a shell that evokes the full moon, the sand dollar is surely one of the most delightful shells on earth. And it’s a pentacle.

A pentacle—a five-pointed star in a circle—has gotten some bad, erroneous press. Ignorant people claim there is something satanic about them, when in fact, they couldn’t be more wholesome. DaVinci famously made the image of man a five-pointed star—legs spread wide, arms outstretched, the head the final point. For me (and many other pagan symbolists) the pentacle merges our two most primal icons: man as star, contained within the circle—which is the earth, the sun, the moon, the wheel of the year—time itself. It represents the unity of humans with our world and all it contains. It’s a powerful reminder that we’re all inextricably connected, all made from the same molecules.

In that iconic pose our feet are anchored in the earth, our arms extend to make connections, and we can both send and receive positive energy. It’s a stance of trust and openness to life. Yet it’s also a position of confidence and power. Try standing like that in an open space in your bare feet and pull the energy of the earth up through your soles. See how empowered you feel, becoming a direct conduit for earth resonance. Don’t be surprised if you experience spontaneous combustion into song! I love to stand like that on the beach in the early morning and wait for the sun to rise over the mountains and wash me in a golden glow.

But back to the spectacular sand dollar. There are other reasons why it’s so magical. It actually represents all three of the traditional allies. First, it’s made by an animal as its home. Second, when the animal dies the shell (also known as a test) remains intact, bleaches to a bright white and becomes more mineral than animal. Third, when you turn it over, the distinct pattern etched into its flat dorsal side is unmistakably a root system. Also, the larger star on the front side is very leaf-like. So there you have it: animal, mineral, plant, star, moon, man and time all contained in one miracle pentacle shell.

meditate on many stars in many moons, click to enlarge

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What other five-pointed stars have you noticed in nature?
• How do you feel when you become a standing pentacle?
• What other symbols suggest unity to you?
• What is culminating in your life this full moon?

Learn why I’m a lunatic here.

This first new moon of Spring always feels extra special, with the earth and moon energies so in sync to pulse renewal into our veins.

Spring has so infused my thoughts that I feel as if my skin ought to glow chartreuse, become translucent like an old Vaseline glass plate. As I embrace all things green, I wouldn’t mind literally becoming green on the outside. After all, my whole premise for this blog is to inspire others to become green on the inside.

While many cultures name each full moon, I think I will name each new moon to reflect what is happening in my natural world, so this lunation I declare to be the Green Bud Moon. As it grows, so too will buds swell along the branches of currants and plum trees. As this moon rounds itself out, so too will cherry trees bloom. As the Green Bud Moon smiles ever wider, so too will I broaden my efforts to reach out to others.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What are your green buds?
• How will you nurture them this lunation?
• How do you use new moon energy in your life?
• What are you growing in your heart?
• What makes you flash a lunar grin?

DOWNLOADABLE AFFIRMATION CARD

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Bask under more new moon energy here.

The most enduring relationship in my life is with the moon. There. I’ve admitted it. I’m a lunatic.

But what’s the point of telling you about my life if I’m not candid? No month in my memory has passed without a stimulating dialogue with the moon. There. Another admission. She talks back to me. Or perhaps a better way to put it would be, she responds to me.

I told you I was a lunatic. I want you to understand my attraction.

The moon is alive. She has moods. She is a siren, a tease. This is not pathetic fallacy or anthropomorphism. She is real. She is always there.

Sometimes I think about moving to a desert just so I can be with her most of my nights. But I can’t do that; I couldn’t survive the days in the desert. I suppose if I was a truly dedicated lover I would become purely nocturnal and never bother with daylight. I am already pale enough. I don’t have the melanin for sun worshipping. I would have been exiled from Egypt by Akhenaten. But I thrive in the realm of the night.

I don’t mind if you call me a lunatic. I think it a proud name. But am I really a lunatic? You be the judge.

The moon is my constant, my confidante, my colostrum. There is no man in the moon; to me she has always been a woman. Sometimes full of face, sometimes just a slanty smile, but always a feminine presence in my life.

I’ve been told that my mother was able to calm my crying by holding me up to a window to see the moon. So you see the moon has always pulled me toward her. She cast her spell over me in a big way when I was just six. Not yet at the age of reason. To escape the suffocating Midwestern summer nights in our small house—which was certainly not air conditioned in 1955—I was allowed to sleep outdoors in the backyard. And that’s when it happened.

The very first night I fell asleep counting shooting stars in a moonless sky, only to be tugged from my dreams hours later by the glowing smile of a nearly full moon. She dazzled me with her charms, her brilliance. She lured me from my grassy bed to follow her through the treetops and into a world I had not known. A quieter world. One without yelling or spanking. One without rules or bedtimes. My new friend moved slowly and seemed willing to listen to the outpourings of my heart.

Let me tell you about my relationship with the moon now.

First of all, I love her figure. Despite her misshapen guises, she is an orb. A circle. That perfect geometry of constancy. The endless line that always returns to its starting point. Never broken, never ending. It is in fact so powerful for me to watch her swell each month that at her culmination, I too, feel a fullness, as if I have taken her into my own body. As if I am lit from within by my own form of bioluminescence. If plants can photosynthesize sunlight, why can I not evolve to synthesize moonlight?

I think I have. I told you I was a lunatic.

But wait! If I can so convincingly make my own case for lunacy, then how can I be truly mad? Perhaps I’m not. But I assure you I am sincere. I’m not toying with you literarily. This is my life. My life with the moon.

No surprise, I am also an insomniac. Have been all my life. I suppose I don’t really want to miss any of the night. There are never curtains at the windows in the rooms where I sleep. I don’t say bedroom, because I seldom devote an entire room to that endeavor. Bedrooms become my office, my studio, a meditation room, but rarely a room just for sleeping.

The absence of curtains has this plus: when I wake—and I do throughout each night—the moon is often there waiting for me. Calling to me. Sometimes I join her outdoors and bask in her light. Sometimes I simply commune with her through my window. And when she and I are at our fullest, I rush to lay out offerings to her: I’ll pick a gardenia and float it in a crystal bowl of water or set a round white agate on a circle of mirror.

The March full moon is known to some as the Crow Moon or the Sap Moon. Here in the far northwest, I have named it the Flowering Currant Moon, because that native plant blooms pink this month and is a lovely harbinger of Spring.

So look to the east tonight, meditate in her light and fill up your own soul with magnificent moonlight. Who knows, perhaps, you, too are a lunatic!

Visit other moons here.