In the yellow glow of streetlights, I lock up site, gloved hands clumsily rattling the padlock into place.
I ride down quiet streets from one pool of yellow street light to the next.
Out onto the main road, tensing at onrushing headlights.
I pedal hard and to the bridalway. As I slip across the field, I relax. I find the sharp sting of my freezing feet. Now I am tired, cold. Enfolded in darkness the wash of my torch grazing the path. The soggy trail a patchwork of muddy puddles. Holes of darkness torn into the surface.
The shrill squeal of wet brakes, hissing sludge splattering feet, legs, back. Head down pedal away, pushing home.
It’s from the corner of my eye I see it first. Through the tangled mess of hedgerow lies velvet blackness.
The drainage ditch now brim full beneath the hawthorne. It is there, flitting across the surface, I see the moon.
Vivid, fleeting glimpses of the white silver moon beside me. She keeps pace with me, now I am not alone.
I emerge from the trees and there she is. A wild brightness strewn across the sky. With me now, above me with painful brightness and new risen zeal.
A celestial being, held in the cold beauty of the clear December night, comes rushing on and joins me as a toil. In puddles she fleets ahead, beside the harbour she swims far out and holds my gaze.
At once in heaven but also drawn to earth. With me, when I lift my head, and casting out to catch my eye from still dark water. Liquid sacred now, no longer fetted pools or puddles but treasured cups holding heaven’s sight.
The glimpses of the moon cried out to me. You are not alone.