Saturday, February 27, 2010
photo by Donna Antonucci
Names Given to the February full Moon
Colonial American: Trapper's Moon
Chinese: Budding Moon
American Indian (Cherokee): Bony Moon
American Indian (Choctaw): Little Famine Moon
American Indian (Dakotah Sioux): Moon of the Raccoon, Moon When Trees Pop
Celtic: Moon of Ice
English Medieval: Storm Moon
Neo Pagan: Snow Moon
Full Snow Moon(February)
Snow Moon, so named because this is the month in which the most snow falls, usually, and especially true for the Northeastern US
this year. The wind howls past the corners of the house making a pitiful sound. Even the stories told around the the Electric Campfire don't warm
my chilled bones, the owls have gone silent, It is a silent,Snow moon,and aptly named.
Gia slowly rises from her slumbers,sirring under her blanket of snow. Who really wants to wake to a cold house and drifting snow, to rekindle the fire, which must be done, must nicer to snuggle deeper into the cocoon of blankets and dream on.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
It's a pin made of limpet shells, painted on the inside and wired up to look like a corsage or some sort of flower, may-be a hyacynth,
perhaps even a lily of the valley. What flower it is isn't important, what is important is that someone made this for someone,
who kept it and probably never wore it. Kept it until it ended up in an antique dealers hands, who understands my whimical senses, and gave it to me.
Someone made this, it deserves to have a story, so here it is. And I know this is the truth because I made it up.
Someone we will call Annie had a very excentric Auntie named Bette, Bette spent her summers at the shore since she retired from teaching second grade.
Aunt Bette loved to make things, just anything and she was very good at making something out of nothing, her more serious-minded
sister would say "making nothing out of something".
Now Annie was the kind of girl who was always dressed in the latest fashion, but she loved her Aunt Bette.
humid night, quiet dreaming of the winter's wood the curtains are still