There is a full moon out tonight, the pink moon of April. I went outside to walk the dog and snapped this inner-city picture of it.
There is an album by Nick Drake called "Pink Moon." It was his last. I am listening to it now. I would not suggest it unless you are in the mood for nearly unending melancholy. 29 sparse minutes of it anyway. It was his Madame Butterfly, sort of. He was its Madame Puccini. 23 years old when he recorded it. At 26 he was dead by his own hand, the sorrow from which there is no return, the eternal woe.
Apparently the significance of the name of the pink moon comes from a sprouting moss that is one of the earliest widespread flowers of spring. That little tidbit of information is for all of you who live in cities and might not be aware of this very common rural knowledge.... No, I just discovered it myself. But I figured I would save all of you the time spent in online research.
Today has been a slow day spent mostly in bed watching movies and ordering food, steak and vegetables. That bed from which I came, the place to which I now return, armed with a pint of ice cream and dreams of tomorrow.
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