The Moon Mother
by Mel Prideaux
The Moon Mother sits, patiently. Her eyes settle gently on the snowscape below. Only she sees the potential, the eternity and the present in all its beauty. Her ears capture the subtle throbbing. The rhythm under girding the silent stillness.
As she cradles her precious moon the snowflakes fall gently past. Still, inert, solid earth greets the perfected patterns with no shudder just steady acceptance. But the knowing is there. The possibility awaits its moment.
At Moon Mother's kiss the first snowdrops break the frozen ground. Unfurling, they maintain a protective pose. The small but full bulb reaches deep down into the cold earth with tendrils that twitch to the earth's pulsing. As they are gently stirred by the wind, which howl around the taller trees, they draw up the rich full bodied wine.
At moon Mother's loving kiss the horses shudder. Their equanimity rewarded by a rain of affection in the tumbling snowflakes. They paw the solid earth, tap-dancing to a rhythm they feel in the sinews of their strong legs.
Moon Mother lowers her arms and the Moon rolls out into the liquid night. It chases the Sun from her low-sky slumbers, reminding her to toil further up, to catch the throbbing, pulsating insistence from deep within the earth.
Moon Mother sighs as she steps out of her winter apparel and leaves her window open so the warm sun can awaken her limbs. As the Moon returns to her arms the snow turns to fertile rain on the waiting garden and spring is found running through deep channels, bursting forth. And prayer flags flutter in the warm, moist breeze.