Lucubration
The moon is full, the night calm, so I sit outside. Spring is well and truly in the air. For the Lakota Sioux Native Americans it is Magáksicaagli Wí : The Moon When the Ducks Come Back. The ubiquity of birds is more distinguished and heartfelt in this period, there is a real growing appeal in their song and chatter. Despite the damp of much needed rain these last few days, it is not really that cold, yet I pull a blanket off the sofa and wrap it around my shoulders to secure the cosiness. My cosmic conversations with Mr.Moon have been many. He is my earliest thought from when I was only three years old - laying on my back on the grass slope of my back garden after a tumble from my rigorous toy tractor driving. Looking up I met with him and saw his face for the first time; not at night, but in a late summer afternoon with a clear sky, like he was getting to work early and calmly setting himself up for his nightshift after chatting with his colleague, Sun. Tonight he isn't very
