Its a full moon tonight. I gaze out into the garden through my window. No stars but the moonlight reflects down on a cast-iron cauldron where the flowers from last year have yet to aspire to live again.
I should repaint that cauldron, the 200 year blackness has faded into dull gray, the moonlight shine in it almost neonlike tint.
I am alone in the neighbourhood since all the muggles are according to tradition celebrating th easter in log cabins in the Norwegian mountains. Huh. The snow has relented, and lo, even the grass in my garden is green. At first sign of summer, Norwegian muggles are a strange breed, as they go up into the cold, snowy mountain, as if not wanting to let go the cold embrace of King Winter. I am left alone, to enjoy the first glimpse of summer. Alas, then, how quick the sun blazed across the sky.
How I was in the garden repairing the old wooden benches. I oiled the old oakwood, the old boards drinking the moisture foaming of white bubbles of success.
No sooner than a blink of my eye and i gaze into the red flames of the setting sun. And time begins to slow again. Another blink and its 0300 in the night. It is my time. Finally I get to do the things I enjoy.
Its been like this as long as I can remember. My days fly, my mundane life on autopilot. Only during night am I awake, and enjoy my time, alone.
I enjoyed watching The Borgias on Netflix. I seldom watch any modern entertainment. I rather read books. This series, and Dexter, would be an exception. Borgia, the 15th century pope from Spain, living at the time of the famous Medici bankers of Florence, and such persons as Leonardo daVinci and Macviavelli. Not to forget Lucretzia and Cesare Borgia, what a wonderful couple.
I enjoyed wine from that district, recently, and won an item on eBay from that time. Such connection. Wonderful.
The popes of all times has surely carried all the sins of mankind; when not being the cause of sin themselves.
What I would give to have even one hour alone in the Vatican archives..
But I digress. The moon is charging my Lunar body. My senses are heightened. I hear things move in the garden. My house is empty except myself, and the occasional astral junk my already heightened senses even more clearly point out.
Sleep is for morons who go with families to vacations. But seriously I would not mind being lost in sleep, to get my attention away from all the impressions of stellar, lunar and eartly natures.
I have my feather pen, ink and parchments, and Ive updated my journal. And now I am blogging from my iPhone, the tool of correspondence of this time.
Would that times be simpler. I sometimes wish back.
When wood yielded only to fire and metal, and water was carried, not pushed through stale kilometers of copper tubes.
The first Harry Potter movie is so great to watch. I saw it yesterday. If you ignore the silly CGI and the absurd idea that magickal invocations is done in Latin, the feelings I get are so simple and cute and innocent, also heavily influenced by British culture, but it is refreshing to feel how creativity and fantasy is being let loose in all the scenery, storytelling and details.