Have you noticed how many moons we have lately? We used to have just the Old Moon and the New Moon, and that was it. This year alone, we’ve had a Wolf Moon in January, a Snow Moon in February and a Worm Moon in March. Latest, was the Pink Moon, last week, whose dramatic appearance was billed well in advance: Not only was it was it to be a Pink Moon, we were reminded, it was also a Super Moon. Both at once – Wow! We get our thrills where we can during Lockdown.
After some fraught minutes, we agree it doesn’t really look very pink to either of us and I take a ‘photo on my ‘phone in order that we can examine its colour more closely.
“Best viewed around 10:35pm”,the newspapers promised. At 10:30 “The Writer” and I are poised. We emerge, excitedly, onto our terrace and gaze at the sky. Sure enough, there it is, a huge, brilliant moon illuminating the air – conditioning units, chimneys and ghastly red, green and orange Google headquarters, not far in the distance. First thing I experience on seeing it is a twinge of disappointment at the fact that it doesn’t look particularly pink. I keep this to myself, not wanting to spoil my husband’s pleasure. Obviously, he can see the pinkness, as he drinks in the sight, apparently enraptured. Time passes. After some while, tentatively, he, too, admits to some misgivings about its colour. We discuss it. Is it pink? Really pink? How Pink? I take a photo on my ‘phone in order that we can examine its colour more closely.
The ‘photo confirms its lack of pinkness.
We concentrate harder.
After about 15 minutes and the onset of neck pain, “The Writer” tells me he can definitely see a pink glow around its edges, a sort of pink aureole. I can’t see the glow but can see a definite blush on the cheeks of The Man In the Moon. Yes, it’s pink. The moon’s pink. We agree ,it’s pink. Amazing – a Pink Moon and a Super Moon at that. How lucky we are to have seen such a rarity.
We return indoors, satisfied, and celebrate, not with an appropriate glass of rose wine but with red, the nearest we have.
Not until yesterday, alerted by a knowledgeable friend to whom we were boasting about having seen the pinkest of Pink Moons, did we discover that the Pink Moon is named by Native Americans after a pink wildflower that blooms in April. Alternative names for it are: “The Sprouting Grass Moon”, “The Egg moon” and “The Fish Moon” and – you’ve guessed it – it’s not pink at all ……..
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My Mother, who died last September, aged 106, was obsessive about New Moons. You mustn’t see one through glass – that was unlucky – and when you went outside to avoid whatever curse was in store if you stayed inside, you had to turn your money over in the palm of your hand. I remember the scurry in the house to open the front door without seeing the moon through the window. (We must already have at least glimpsed it, otherwise how would we have known it was there?). When you were safely on the pavement, came the discovery that you had no money in your pocket, followed by a rush back inside with averted eyes, the whole saga ending as you stood, feeling foolish, turning over the odd coins from the kitchen table in sight of astonished neighbours wondering if , perhaps, we’d joined a cult. It always seemed to me that the turning should be accompanied by some kind of incantation or spell. As dramatic rituals go, it was somehow unsatisfactory.
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Anita, a primary school teacher friend, once gave me the only way I have of knowing whether what I’m looking at is the crescent of a new moon or the tail of an old one. “Comma, coming” is her way of helping the children in her class (and me) to remember it’s the New Moon that looks like punctuation in the sky.
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Moons to come are:
Flower Moon in May
Strawberry Moon in June
Buck Moon in July
Sturgeon Moon in August
Full Corn Moon in September
Beaver Moon in November
Cold Moon in December
And, in case you’re wondering, a “Blue Moon” apparently occurs only once every two and a half years. Hence the phrase.
Locked down in London 