[Unenhanced photo of the moon. Sailing west, looking south. The North Atlantic Ocean. Photo is mine.]

Whenever people look at clouds they do not see their real shape, which is no shape at all, or every shape, because they are constantly changing. They see whatever it is that their heart yearns for.

~~Eduardo Agualusa, A General Theory of Oblivion

Whatever it is their hearts yearn for…Hmm.

We were rapidly approaching the Grand Banks off Newfoundland, Canada. Our two-month adventure through Ireland and England was nearing an end. How many more nights would I have to stand on the deck, port side, and look out over the impossibly beautiful and terrifying expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean? Two maybe three. I lost track of the days when I just sat and watched the waves; read, write and think. I knew one thing, however, the number of days remaining were far too few. I could stay out here…imagining myself in a small sailboat and fulfilling a long held dream of mine. To do a solo crossing. Nothing but the sky, water and myself.

That will always be just a dream, I’m afraid. Just a fantasy of an old man who had more dreams than he should.

The photo above came out just by accident. I can’t explain the way the waves turned a pale amber and the moon, not yet full, lit the sky so dramatically. But it worked and I got a fair number of positive responses on social media after I posted it.

Then, a night later, after we had dinner in the Britannia Restaurant, we sat to listen to some music in the Carinthia Lounge. A group of about twenty people, dressed in the style of the 1920’s flappers, were dancing the Charleston. The music was played by the resident band. It was festive. Joyful and exuberant. As I videoed, I was nearly run over by the conga line of dancers. The suspenders and arm garters on the men, the tight feathered hats of the women–allowing for that ‘spit curl’ to fall across their powdered foreheads–I was loving the visuals. And the music somehow was absolutely perfect for the moment.

Back in my seat, I glanced at the large windows and noticed the white. We were over the Grand Banks, notorious for thick fogs. The ships exterior lights turned all that mist into a white shroud engulfing us. I thought of the moon, shining brightly just beyond the cloud bank.

More music, more dancing.

[They danced the night away. Video is mine.]

After another forty-five minutes of watching the party go on, it was time to retire to our small suite. Room #5082, with no windows. I needed one more visit to the deck. It was a struggle to open the heavy door. The wind had increased and the fog had lifted. I stood at the railing clutching my iPhone, desperately not wanting it to sink a few fathoms to the mucky ocean floor. Some light mist still hung off the port side. There was the moon, a bit fatter, waxing toward full, but not reaching that phase until after we were back in our apartment in New York City.

I snapped a few photos. The gusts increased. I never took a look at what I had taken until several nights later. (As I stood, bracing myself on the rail, I noticed a figure approaching me. It was a woman, alone, wrapped in a grey cloak. Wordlessly, she stopped just a few meters from me and aimed her camera to the same moon that I was seeing. She passed behind me and continued on her solo walk around the deck. Her coat fluttered in the wind.)

Too much to do in those final few days. Packing and sorting of all we had purchased in our travels. Mostly books for me. Once I had settled back into our apartment, the unpacking mostly complete, I went back to my photo roll.

I saw images that took my breath away.

The moon, but more than the moon alone…

Was I seeing Selene, coming from the bed of Endymion? Maybe Diana, maybe Artemis? Perhaps the Chinese Kuan Yin or Changxi, showing mercy or giving birth to the 12 moons. Rhiannon from Wales? Was this not of the moon at all? Was this Amphitrite, Greek queen of the sea? I pondered it. But no, this was not arising from the water, but the moon.

But maybe it was none of these. Eduardo Agualusa, quoted above, suggests what we see in clouds, and for me that night, the moon, is whatever a heart yearns for. My own heart? Absolutely. Yes, I have a fulfilling life, but I also have dreams that go beyond the day to day existence of a man whose life is interrupted with the process of growing old.

So, what did I see in the photo? I saw something feminine, alluring, loving, peaceful, joyful even, but nothing evoking fear. Is it spooky? To some. But to me it’s all the females I have ever encountered…My grandmothers, my mother, daughter, cousins, teachers, students, lovers and wives. All the goddesses encountered in life and whose love was sought.

Oh yes, there was something very feminine out there, moonlight suspended in the mints and waves of the sea.

The first figure:

[Looking south over the Atlantic Ocean. The moon reflects on the sea. Photo is mine.]

And, lastly. For me, the most telling and enigmatic…

[Almost like a painting, but not. Photo is mine.]

What do you see in these images? I would be interested in hearing from my dear readers. But wait. I had picked up my iPhone to search for something. My wallpaper for my lock screen. Something jumps out at me.

I was using a detail of one of my favorite Symbolist paintings. The Isle of the Dead by Arnold Bocklin. Here is the entire painting:

[The Isle of the Dead by Arnold Bocklin. Source: Google search.]

And here is my iPhone wallpaper:

[Screenshot of my iPhone. So, who gets the credit?]

Do I see a familiar shape here? Again, I’d love to hear from my readers.

This is the final Four Green Fields Blog series. It is the end of our late summer travels to Ireland and England and the Atlantic crossing aboard the QM2. I am reveling in the cooler weather, picking apples in Brewster NY, looking forward to kicking brilliant red and yellow leaves as I walk the sidewalks of my hometown of Owego NY. I will be walking through the memories of my youth (something I always enjoy). But, I will be going north soon with a mix of happiness and deep sadness. I will saying good-bye to a high school friend, Gary. My thoughts to his family.

I will be reading, maybe sketching and smelling the frosted air of Owego. And, rest assured, I will be writing more ghost stories of that town.

Happy Halloween to my readers, lets hope for better days ahead. Ones filled with sanity and love.

{AUTHORS NOTE: 1– I assure anyone who reads this blog post that I did not alter, edit, crop, enhance any image shown above, in any way. And NO AI used! It’s straight from my iPhone to you. 2– If you wondered where the title of this blog series came from, listen to the song Four Green Fields by Tommy Makem.}