SILVER APPLE

As I came up the road tonight into darkness that chased the edge of sunset around the black silhouette of the mountains, the way was lit by a silver wedge of moon, about a hand’s breadth above the slope to the south.

The moon itself was in a clear area of sky, but just reaching for it - about to touch it - was the horsehead of a distant cloud, a white horse racing, neck outstretched to grab the moon; then, against the deeper dark, the stormcloud that was the horse’s body flashed light from deep within to its periphery, much like our own bodies experience the rush of emotions (we’re not all that dissimilar from clouds).

As I climbed higher the moon sank lower, until it was only a bright glimpse now and then among the trees, and all that lit my way home was the passion of the great white horse, chasing the silver apple…