Tonight is the full moon, the Harvest Moon. There is a lot of preparation to make, totems to sort, readings to take. It is a big time in the farmland, though there are few farmers now. People lose touch with the natural world until it becomes a burden, really, something associated with tornadoes and hurricanes and fires and droughts. But the moon has power over us, scientific and statistical power if nothing else.
For years, I photographed every full moon and made a small essay for my friends. I tried to find them in my files this morning and thought to post one here, but I can't find them. I lose things. They just disappear. I am not meant to hold onto the past, only to create it. I am not sentimental at all. Sentimentality is the dirtiest of lenses, the worst sort of lie. But still, I would like all the images back. That is why I made them, I think.
I have even lost the new ones. I am not organized. I do not back up my hard drives. I ramble, narrate, get confused. I am a romantic depending too much upon the moon.
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