April, the true honey moon

To me, the expression “flower moon” is laden with dubious notions of youths with long hair and fringed waistcoats, a la 1960’s, whiling the night away in narcotic-induced trances. But April has longed been known as the flower moon, most likely because it is the time of year when, following the Stygian winter months, the flowers appear. Again, it is all notional; because of our ever-erratic climate, those lovely pale pink and white blossoms that define early spring have already appeared and vanished from the trees near where I dwell, ditto the daffodils in the park. A pity, but at least it is a sign of the roses and gladioli and lavender flowers to come. No wonder that in ancient Rome, the Sabine people dedicated the month of April to Flora, goddess of flowers. In her honour, “courtesans” were encouraged to participate in the Floralia, games held in her honour. As a gesture, Flora gave mankind the gift of honey. And us lunar-ticks have another reason to be jubiliant: on this very day, April 8, lucky denizens of certain areas of North America, are about to witness a total solar eclipse, brought about by a hiatus in the position of the moon....cool! To those of you who can, enjoy.

Cracking Easter Open

To all of you scratching your heads over what to do during the Easter break, London-bound readers need look no further than the northern edge of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, to the delectable, newly furbished Sir John Soane’s Museum. During the eighteenth century, Soane (1753-1837) was the most successful of neo-classical architects. Having made his fortune, he became one of those delightful collectors of objets: paintings and drawings (check out Canaletto, Hogarth, Watteau, Turner and more), Roman sculptures and medieval carvings, furniture and, in the midst of all, an Egyptian sarcophagus. Visiting the JS Museum is like stepping into the mind of an eccentric, all grace and elegance above stairs, with the wonderful, strange and downright weird in the basement: check out a madly-grinning monk among the medieval carvings, the stuff as nightmares are made on. The Museum is open Wednesday to Sunday, 10 am to 5 pm. It is normally closed Monday and Tuesday, but does open on Bank holidays. Bookings are obligatory for groups of eight or more. Individuals do not need to book; just walk in and entry is FREE. However, queues do build up in the afternoon - you will soon find out why – so early arrival is recommended. Their shop is stocked with quality goods, and toilets are in the basement. No cafe is available but the Museum is just a walk away from High Holborn, a site of pubs and eateries too numerous to mention. And if the day turns out fine, you can always enjoy an after-stroll in the glorious, grass and floral-walk Square – what’s not to love? Whoever you are, whatever you do, a cracking great Easter to you.

Wonderful, Wriggly Worm Moon

At one level, I rail and groan against having been born in the month that is defined by worms. The moon in March is called the worm moon because it is the time of year when earthworms, grubs and beetle larvae (eeeuch!) all wake up from their winter sleep. Worms rise to the occasion and bring nutrients and new life to the soil, thus awakening the land after the long and cold season. When I looked more deeply into the lore surrounding the wriggly little things, I discovered quite a romance. The word “Worm” is actually the Old English for dragon and the Anglo-Saxon god, Wotan, slew the worm or dragon and cut it into nine pieces. From these pieces the fabled nine herbs grew, for which the Lacnunga or The Lay of the Nine Herbs, was written. In other lores, the worm stands for cosmic energy, because it emerges when the sap, together with creative awareness, intuition and other cosmic energies, are rising. After all, the worm is related to the serpent – so the ancients believed – which has ever been a symbol of wisdom and eternity. So there, a wealth of comfort for us all. But if you other March bunnies really can’t stand it, this month’s moon is also known as the Crow Moon, Chaste Moon, Crust Moon, Sap Moon, Sugar Moon, or Lenten Moon. Take your pick.

No moon like a snow moon

Many years ago, I read a rather silly newspaper article, the writer arguing that “today’s children” are going to grow up without ever knowing snow (except in faraway ski resorts, picture postcards and Hollywood movies?) The savage winter of 2010-11 was yet in the future – what a baptism of ice for these youths! – and we have not exactly been strangers to the white stuff, since. But it does seem that snowfalls grow ever and ever scarcer. Of course, geography plays a part: right now, I bask in the mild and palmy clime of the south, while somewhere up north, schools and businesses are shut or compromised in other ways because of the hazards that a heavy fall brings. February is deemed “snow month” for obvious reasons, the colder part of winter occurring following the return of the sun. And has it inspired poets?
Oh, my: what a wealth of wintry words our language affords. Take “Thy silvery form so soft and fair/ Shining through darkness” (To a Wreath of Snow by Emily Bronte, 1818-1848) and “the sudden flurries of snow-birds, / Like brown leaves whirling by” (The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell, 1819-1891) and the darker tones of “a snow-blown traveller sank from sight beneath the smothering bank” (Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl by John Greenleaf Whittier, 1807-1892). Short of travelling abroad (and thus further exacerbating global warming) I believe it is just a question of awaiting a global temperature dip for the “white bees” (The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen, 1805-1875) to return and wreath us all in the cool stuff. Then once again, February will truly be snow month.

Happy 2024 to all.

At last, an interval in the sheet of wet that they call weather. And this allows us to see the moon and stars and night. And what a wonderful moon it is!! In Anglo-Saxon culture, January’s full moon was called the “Moon after Yule”, the ancient winter solstice festival. Also, intriguingly, it was called “wolf moon”. In days of old, when wolves were active in Northern Europe, February was the time for breeding and wolves become very vocal just before this. In addition, wolves are nocturnal animals and are more active at night. In North America and the few areas of Europe where they survive, wolves howl to communicate over long distances. It is their way of letting the pack know where they are and warning intruders to stay away. They actually howl in the direction of the moon, pointing their faces towards the sky, because this upward projection carries the sound further. Whatever you call it, it is the first of several moons of 2024. Watch this space.