This evening’s gibbous moon is a blood orange,
rising over Snowdonia’s ranges
and Criccieth Castle’s promontory,
shining its rippled beams across the waves
unerringly towards us. Much later
it transforms into a gleaming silver, moving
south and high over Harlech Castle,
that towers above the far, dark shore.
From first light the sand and shingle beach,
beneath our windows, is lined with the black,
triangular paraphernalia
of solitary sea anglers. Diligent
environmentalists they return
each bream, and bass, and dab into the sticky,
salty vestiges of the Gulf Stream,
and stow away their gear like good children.
As the storm-gauge falls, the day turns humid, still,
and haze, out in the bay, mid-afternoon,
thickens into a smoke-grey cloud that seems
to hover just above the surface
of the glassy sea. Horizontal lightning
sparks and flashes, flashes and sparks, and thunder
rumbles briefly. The storm dwindles, becoming
a rain shower, and the bay begins to clear.
In the dusk we can almost see the castles.
Tonight the moon is gold.
By David Selzer