The land looks different lit in silver. That’s most-of-all what I remember, the night of almost being stranded on a mountainside. True story: I was a romantic-minded, foolish teenager, determined to see the sunset from the summit of the mountain. Absolutely crazy. My dad couldn’t persuade me to go back. Textbook idiocy. Of course, the path was clear enough in daytime. After sundown, not so much.
It might have been a blue moon, I’m not sure. It sure was cold up there. Cold enough to die of exposure? Definitely. Thankfully, my dad had the sense to call for help. I, embarrassed, told him to be quiet, which is how the mountain rescuer recognised that we were human, not stray sheep. He guided us with his torch over a dim precipice: on one side a footpath, on the other, an abyss.
Why had I wanted to stay up there, risking both our lives? What ghostly voices did I hear – what call, and who had hoped to keep me there? Once safely walking in the valley floor, I returned to my senses, bathed in moonlight; like an engraving of the world I recognised, but reminiscent of that spirit-night:
Once in a blue moon
revelations come shining
embrace silvered light.