The moon has always been a powerful force in our lives, governing our tides, defining how we measure time, even illuminating our nocturnal exploits. Though it is perhaps her physical presence (or absence) that affects us most strongly. I think it no accident that she is most always considered feminine, with the nurturing that implies: the way she seems to watch over us, reaching out to console us with her gentle touch when we are alone, or how nights always stretch longer and colder when she is away. Yet, we always rest safe in the knowledge that she will return, and greet us with the same visage of loveliness, half smiling like De Vinci's Madonna as she takes our hand and guides us through the darkness.
But to poets, and those who dream, the moon has always offered more, for in the subtle change she brings to the light she shares, they sense the spirit that lives behind her daily passage, and the myriad gifts she might offer to those who would receive them.
This is the story of one such creature, a storyteller, a weaver of dreams. A caretaker who shares his perceptions and knowledge with whomever would listen, simply because he can. It seems we now encounter his kind less and less. But there was a time when they lived in every community, and I think in some ways the world was richer then, for without their guidance I believe we all see less of the magic of the world.
In Turtle and the Moon, Harlan Mathieu places before us a picture of a world that is slipping away. A time and a place where reflection could reveal what was within as well as what lies on the surface. A time when, for those who listened, the moon would sing, and share with them all the wonders that she has witnessed. Writing in verse, set as a parable or fairy tale, his story shows us a turtle, a storyteller in his small corner of the world, who tells us of his questions and his discoveries, of his love for the moon, and all the gifts she shares with all who will receive them.
