It is not uncommon for today’s full moon to be called Hunter Moon. A few nights ago I camped in the tall sage near an old corral. Two hunters crept along, dusk, in their truck down the rocky road. We talked a bit. They, looking for mule deer, outfitted in full dress camo, kindly apologized for having disturbed me. I, seeking landscapes of rock art, in dusty fleece and levied twill, wished them well. Though I don't kill animals. Nor eat meat. We each have our ways of being in this fleeting world, of looking and seeking. What we give and take beyond our grasp. Under the silver waxing moon and golden rising sun, I was lucky. Circles embracing the grain of the moment. Laden, ripe, holding forth.
Two Circles. Petroglyph images in the Washoe-Lassen borderlands, the country northwest of Pyramid Lake.