Alice

by

Photography: Wolf Moon

You’ve walked this trail a hundred times before. Usually, you have a hand to hold or a baby strapped to your chest. Tonight, you are alone. It’s not until you see milky clouds streaking across the sky you realize how weird the woods have become. A rabbit darts across the trail and the word “mad” comes to mind. We are all mad here.

Shifting your weight and shaking your head, you decide it’s the light causing everything to look wrong. Despite it being winter you feel warm and take off your jacket. A wolf howls nearby, but you aren’t scared. You listen as the sound echoes off the black skeletal trees. The branches reach toward the full moon. You feel yourself doing the same. You sway in place, moving with the wind. The moonlight feels good when it enters. Vast.

“As if you were on fire from within.
The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”
—Pablo Neruda

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When you fail to capture the full moon properly with your camera, you create something different. I hope you enjoyed these moody shots and let me know if you have a favorite. Although I promised myself no challenges this year, I’m going to photograph every full moon. Maybe I’ll get better.

These photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.

by

Poetry: Dream With Me

It’s a cave. No, it’s a mouth. I’m standing on the tongue trying not to be swallowed but I find the warmth alluring. It’s almost like a siren song but I can’t hear it. What if I let myself go?

Action accompanies thought and I slide gently backward. I’ve turned into little Alice, all blue and white. Clicking my feet together three times I land beside the white rabbit but he’s got fangs and he tries to bite my ankles. “No,” I say but my words come out as meows. I’ve got whiskers and a hankering to find a spot to lay in the sun but it’s only skin all around me.

Is it tea time yet? A tidal wave of Mint Majesty knocks me off my feet and I tumble further and further down until I come out into the bright sunshine. I’m not inside anymore, I think, but maybe I’ve reached the center. Giant sunflowers surround a not-yellow house with a white picket fence. Voices call from inside but they are madness and I cover my ears so I don’t hear them. Too late. “Curl up into a ball,” they say.

I’m rolling now along a path lined by oceans on both sides. Starfish leap at me but I’m too fast. My bowling ball self hits the pins and someone yells “Strike” but before I can celebrate I’m in the cave again. No, it’s a mouth. This time I’ll do things differently.

Author’s note: I’m participating in Inktober this year by writing the prompt instead of making a drawing. This poem was my response to “dream.”