I wrote this during the last full moon.
In Namibia I could never sleep during the full moon. The light was overbearing. On a clear night, the light illuminated the sand, a cold white sea. The silhouette of the palms like tall stately ladies, long hair blowing in the breeze.
I listened to the crickets and the silence. So much silence you could almost hear the pull of the moon on your skin.
Now I lay awake and remember the restless nights. The cat gone out to hunt. My spirit longing to follow her through the darkness. If only for something to do, somewhere to be. Because the full moon has no use for sleep. She calls you to something more. To something wild. Something deep in all our memories.