The Crescent Moon tonight was cool and sharp in her ascending but now she seems to be lowering into the Western ridge of mountains and she has put on her warlike face. She is poised now–a sickle, a scythe–leaning in towards Spivey Mountain with a dark intention. The perfect horns of her falling rip my breath from me as I watch her go. Slow and glorious, swift in her newness and gleeful in her power.
This is a Moon of changes and wily transformation. She is a Moon of decision and fortitude. There is no enigma here–her intention is clear as the night sky below her.
How will you use the energy of this trickster Moon? Will you embrace the rashness, the bold shift to fire and blood? Or will she stay as as quiet reminder of the mutability of life, as reflected in the revolution and evolution of her prickly horns which grow duller as she rounds in her wisdom?
