The Kirghiz tribe believes that as the moon completes a cycle- one from full moon to darkness, from completeness to nothingness- its dying parts waft away into the sky... like sawdust... giving birth to stars...
As I stand here today, looking at the moonless blue and at the plentiful stars dotting the summer sky, I wish I could pick up each one of them, carefully and vigilantly, and put it back, sawdust by sawdust to spot the moon again... travel the other way round...
My mind is flooded with thoughts... not worries... thoughts... like the night... where the stars gleam through sinisterly, etching strange patterns on the mossy walls of ols buildings. You wish you could see things more plainly, see them how they are. But all that is visible is the shadow on the wall. Shadows from your past... shadows of the future... and you are stranded wondering about your present. You try and chase the shadow... but all that you are left with is the cold feeling on your hand from the wet mossy wall.
But somewhere deep down, you know, that it's not far away... the reversal... when the moon will start to materialise into the sky... and before you know it, it will be a full moon night... and you'll see things clearly... not in the glare of the white sun, but in the gentle silverweed of the moon... You'll feel the summer breeze caressing your face... and you'll know... just know...
By then you would have completed the cycle... the cycle from confusion to conclusion...
