The moon is loud. I know she is no longer full but she shines through my curtains like a morning, and, this morning, I am fooled awake. Wide awake. Lets-get-on-with-the-day sort of awake, not a single yawn in my mouth nor a blear in my eyes. Rats.
Ok, music. Joshua Bell’s Romantic Violin will more than do and there’s no risk of waking my neighbour, no thumping Def Lepard beat to bump against the dividing wall, which purports to be solid stone, but obviously isn’t. I can hear him open the door of his aga at his supper time when I am reading in bed. I remember we once had a chimney fire, pre wood burner with lined chimney, and the smoke came through into his airing cupboard.
The sea-loch is green lit. Moon colour, mixed with flat dark night, and metal grey water, water that lifts in a rippled response to the wind. I think of the little seedlings out there being reshaped too early. Everything here gets reshaped eventually because there are always winds blowing in from other worlds gathering speed across the ocean until they crash headlong into whatever is taller than a church mouse. I wonder if my enthusiasm for summer hasn’t jerked both me into foolery, and the seedlings into those annoyingly reshaped plants that grow sideways for months, if at all.
Today my youngest son was born, the African one. We shall birthday him well, in spite of the limbo we are all glooping our way through, as we wait to hear from the latest hospital what will be done, and when, and if, for their old dad. We keep dancing, but our feet are stuck in glue half the time and our heads never shut up. Mine jabbers on all hours, although I did manage to find an irritating melody last night that kept me entertained. It wasn’t irritating the first time around, of course, but, after four hours of repeat, I just had to get up. You stay there, I told it, and pulled the duvet back up as I left the room. It seems to have obeyed me.
Birds are singing now and the moon has turned pink. I can see the mountain shadows on her face and it smiles me. I’m not alone. I have the moon, the blackbird and Joshua. Soon the island will wake and the new day will bring whatever it brings. A light flickers into life across the water. Someone is rising, as I will soon to find another log for the fire. And in a hospital miles away, the night shift sorts and calms and tidies. Then prepares for home.