Dark Moon, New Moon

Tonight is the night of the new moon. It is unseasonally warm, by my standards, at this late hour with no cooling breeze to bring respite. But I should be careful what I wish for - as I live in a very green country but often the skies are leaden grey with rain clouds. And I do love to see the sun. Even tonight when coming home the sky was a beautiful azure palette overlaid with heavenly white clouds. John Martyn's Solid Air was playing when I arrived home.


The dark moon found me in Edinburgh, which has given me both happy memories and regrets. Age and the lure of social networking led me to meet former guy friends who I had not seen for fifteen years. I had attended a university re-union in the same city two years earlier and found it disconcerting. The only exception was my two girl friends, with whom I hadn't kept in touch with but they tried hard to not lose me, and with whom the years melted away when we were together. The girls' time is filled with wonderful adventures so I hope they can keep some free time in December to meet. 


And this brings me back to next adventure into my past. Trying to act and look nonchalant, unfortunately my coffee cup, sensibly placed in seat tray cup-holder, jumped into my lap as the train lurched forward leaving from the station. Ah, I had tried again, foolishly, to pretend to be the suave, sophisticated lady but started my day with coffee stains on my jeans and blouse. This reduced my apprehension a little, as I felt foolish again, but I should not have been worried. To chat for hours about how our lives have changed seemed the most natural thing. I doubt it will be regular occurrence nor does it need to be - a 'hi' at a bar or concert is more likely - but it has complimented the lines of communication of social networking.


And what of the book? Coffee aside, the train journey was a perfect opportunity to read. I always feel it is my train journey, as I have travelled it so often - with my mother from a small child, with school friends, to uni and later with my husband. It has just dawned on me that a pattern is emerging, as I started reading on the train from Inverness and now it is Edinburgh. The new High King Uther makes his plea for Igraine to be set free to marry him. Her husband Gorlois responds by withdrawing both Igraine and his support. Igraine, mistress of Tintagel , is then all but imprisoned there, to keep her from Uther's grasp whereas I am free to go wherever I wish  and return willingly home . . .