Gamila's Moon

Thank you all for dropping by. It is becoming imperative to post or retire. People are bothering to comment; people I would be happy to count as friends.   Of course I have been too busy to insult many people in discussions just recently, but have just twigged that responding honestly to followers of the quality blogs is not a waste of time. Also posting slushy poetry and romantic pictures could be the way forward.

I just want you to realize how difficult this is for an angry young atheist and complete leftie.    Of course the cat- and tree-loving side of me wants to communicate with natural simple people, but I really want to argue with the ‘believing’ types among you as well.  Please believe that the more scathing and ‘ironic’ my comments, the more I like you. Corfubob and Dr Awsom are barely friends of course, and even I get annoyed sometimes at the variety of ‘roles’ it amuses me to play.

Like a diamond – if it has too many sides it can’t sparkle.  (Get yer paws off that one Nothing Profound)  No really, After music my two favourite hobbies are humour and crushing debate aimed at shriveling the confidence of anyone with odd beliefs and/or limited intellect.  Look friends, you can see the humility behind this last point.  Anyone who can’t beat me in any debate (I agree to partake in) must be pretty dim. 

Now I’ve forgotten what the post is supposed to be about.  I know, I’ll stick a poem in.  Its from Konitsa, August 1997.



Gamila’s Moon

I will gladly sit these sunny Autumns;

Sit and watch the colours changing,

Watch the trees resign to Winter

And the dry leaves falling.

Then I’ll put a kettle boiling

And a small brown loaf to bake

Turn my back towards the log fire

Watch my shadow dancing while I wait.

But with bread a-steaming on the plate

From the table I’ll not move.

Window open to the pines,

Eyes upon the peaks above.

Waiting, waiting for the moonrise,

Waiting in the fire’s light.

First a glow above the skyline

But entrancing still the magic sight

Of her launch into the Epirus night;

Slicing through Gamila’s  misty shroud,

Cooling in the diamond sky,

Free of rock and cloud.

Epirus is a province of mainland Greece, and Gamila is a peak of the Pindus range towering above the Aoos river gorge near the town of Konitsa. Gamila means camel.  This is the real Greece, no ancient ruins and therefore almost no tourists but a wild region of mountains, monasteries, and stone-built traditional villages. 

Well, the log fire was actually a converted sawdust burner, but just capable of casting a shadow.  Something is wrong here however, the poem is dated August.  Hot nights – no stove. But I did used to wait for the full moon to rise over the foothills of Gamila.  Moonlight pictures later.