Colonia San Antonio, photography, San Miguel de Allende, Writings

Upon reflection: Once in a blue moon

The moon also rises.

The painting of a tiny Thai jungle village set against snow-tipped blue mountains in our casita has gained a full moon.

The moon wasn’t there yesterday.

And it was not there when Rose Alcantara acquired the painting on the island of Koh Samui, off Thailand, many many years ago. (She doesn’t want to think of how many.)

It is a charming and primitive scene of four red-tiled peaked-roof houses, painted in bright tropical colors. A red-dirt road curves through the settlement. Flowers of many colors encroach on the green grass yards, pushed in by the encroaching jungle. A rickety fence or two and an ancient wooden cart enhance the setting.

In time, the painting becomes a kinetic medium, as the moving sun’s reflection pushes the “moon” up and off the painting.

A man with a walking stick and a woman beside him in a yellow skirt were, until today, staring toward the distant blue mountains, their backs toward us.

Today, they seem to be looking at the blue moon rising above the peaks.

Who wouldn’t?

Delicate red petals on a curved stem drape across the moon. And the moon, which did not exist there yesterday, is rising right out of the frame.

That doesn’t happen every day.

The “moon” is a serendipitous reflection.

It appears courtesy of a circular window set high in the wall opposite the painting. The flowers are no illusion. They grow in lush and bountiful bouquets against the outside courtyard wall. The sun’s rays sent the circle and image of the flowers to bounce off the glass covering the painting.

At just the right height. Just the right size. Just the right place.

The most serendipitous thing of all is that I was sitting on the couch in just the right place so that, as I turned to look back over my left shoulder (why, I do not know), my sightline was perfect to capture the moon.

As you can see from the photos.

Like all moons, this one is ethereal. Here for a few minutes. Then off to another world, another plane, another imagination to the west of San Miguel de Allende.

The couple still stares off into the distance. Oh, to read their thoughts.

We could not reproduce the “moon” later, as the sun had continued its arc across San Miguel’s robin egg blue sky.

Goodnight, Moon.


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