Muses of the Heart
: November Beaver Moon by JLR
Short Story writing prompt entry
November's Beaver moon hung low in the night sky. The harsh cold air held tight to the heavy mist following the mountain stream into the still shadows of the forest beyond. Many times I have lingered by the outcropping of rocks clinging to the bank of this stream. My heartbeat slows to match the rhythm of the pace of nature while at restful sleep.|
Thoughts stir, unwinding, like silent reels whirling of bygone days when you sat beside me. These unwelcomed thoughts, opening up deep-set pangs of loneliness. You may know that same feeling of loneliness one senses when hearing the evening call of the lone whippoorwill pleading for a mate to reply. That solo call matches this Mourning moon phase's tenor separating the winter solstice, reminding me of the cycles of life we once shared.
Remembering the warmth of your breath as it tickled my ear lobe as you whispered sweet words of love. This was then a space in time when we were so much alive and quite literally unbeatable in any of life's many games.
As I watch the clouds of mist reveal more of the low-hung moon, I ponder more deeply about the coming of the next full moon and all the mysteries of life it too will shine forth unto this mortal soul.
Wonder fills me with the question, just how many ways can the moon present someone with a sneak-peek into the number of journeys one can take without the need of a passport?
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