Dreaming

I feel as though I am living a dream. Not in the sense that my life is working out perfectly and everything is amazing; I feel as though I am drifting. My sense of time is all out of whack. My sense of focus and drive and purpose, also. Is this what happens to people who have nothing to occupy their time? Even when I try to be purposeful about something, it seems to always get pushed aside for something just a bit more whimsical. Why unpack when I could be with friends? Why organise and sort when I could be outside playing ball with Cam. Why blog when I could be reading a book?

Maybe because it's summer. Maybe because classes are over. Maybe because despite the move, this has not been a week for focusing on things outside of myself. (A yellow jacket stung my ankle Sunday morning, and my foot was quite swollen and painful up until last night.)

Tonight is the full moon. I hope that the comfort of ritual will snap me back to myself. Purpose. Drive. Direction.

a quote

Okay, so I've been without internets (and my laptop!) since Thursday night. Those cursed viruses, you know. A quick recap of our Beltane weekend: drove to my parents' on Saturday morning, went fishing, played outside, painted the toad house and set it up in my garden, said farewell to my brother who is off to be an active military man.

I also started reading Watership Down, which as I mentioned once before is my favourite book. I hadn't read it in almost a year, and since we got the movie in Netflix, I've really been craving it. How odd that I should crave a book like I sometimes crave chocolate. It's just one of those things that will stay in the back of your mind, diving you to distraction, until you give in. So I'm reading Watership Down, the first of many Summer re-reads. In the course of reading this (fantastic) book, I came across a quote about the moon, which I absolutely love. And while it would probably be more appropriate for around the New or Full Moon, I'm going to be a deviant and post it now. :)

We take daylight for granted. But moonlight is another matter. It is inconstant. The full moon wanes and returns again. Clouds may obscure it to an extent to which they cannot obscure daylight. Water is necessary to us, but a waterfall is not. Where it is to be found it is something extra, a beautiful ornament. We need daylight and to that extent it is utilitarian, but moonlight we do not need. When it comes, it serves no necessity. It transforms. It falls upon the banks and the grass, separating one long blade from another; turning a drift of brown, frosted leaves from a single heap to innumerable flashing fragments; or glimmering lengthways along wet twigs as though light itself were ductile. Its long beams pour, white and sharp, between the trunks of trees, their clarityfading as they recee into the powdery, misty distance of beech woods at night. ... [The moonlight] does not reveal but changes what it covers. And its low intensity--so much lower than that of daylight--makes us conscious that it is something added to the down, to give it, for only a little time, a singular and marvelous quality that we should admire while we can, for soon it will be gone again.

Aside from the fact that I love how this is written, I love what it says about the moon. It does not reveal, but changes what it touches. Who has not been changed by the moon, out of those who allow her rays to touch their spirits.

Don't forget! Enter my giveaway! I'll be drawing the name tomorrow afternoon-ish.