There’s nothing like the glow of a cold winter moon to rev up the imagination of a writer.

It resurrects the memory of Au Claire de la Lune.

(At least this is the way we children learned the folk song of unknown origin, though Wikipedia offers a more adult version of the lyric.)

“Good Pierre, I beg you,
In the moonlight bright,
Your quill pen to lend me,
For I long to write.

“Burnt out is my candle,
And my fire’s out too.
Good Pierre, I beg you,
Let me in, pray do.”

Since I was a child, these words and their haunting melody have claimed a room in my soul.

I’ve been inhabited by the image of the haggard writer — no candle, no fire, seeking warmth and light by which to continue his mission.

I suppose this accounts for my life-long fascination with lunar rhythms.

She is my silver muse, my inkwell, my inspiration.

It’s been too long since this writer snuffed out candle to bask in the dream-weaving radiance of a lunar swell.

I wonder what strange characters and nefarious deeds might be conjured up ‘neath her sublime countenance.