Threshold
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The eerie shadow of the waxing moon hovers in a bright, cerulean sky. There is something primal, uncanny, about night light manifest in day time. It raises our solar hackles, an autonomic response vestigial in cave dwellers. The ancient truth is time makes us itch. Some part of us is tuned to a different scale. Our sweetest songs and deepest desires are not linked to lunar cycles, earth’s constant change. We were not always finite, shrouded in time’s old hair shirt. Suppose this good, weary and waning world is threshold to another, the tissue paper shadow of this day dimmed moon veils vast immutability. Then what? [End Page 293]
Bonnie Thurston is author or editor of sixteen books, many articles and three collections of poetry, the most recent of which is Belonging to Borders: A Sojourn in the Celtic Tradition (Liturgical Press, 2011). She taught at the university/graduate level for many years, but now lives quietly in her home state of West Virginia. blbthurston@gmail.com
