Monday. In Old English it was the Day of the Moon, lunatic fringe peeking from under the week's hat.
Blue it is, this Moon-day, china blue, fragile, breakable day, day for keeping again in the air all those china blue plates.
Or a harvest moon perhaps? Day for gathering the fruits of our labours into barns. "Harvest moon, harvest moon", (Ted Hughes this time), "booming softly through heaven like a bassoon./And earth replies all night/Like a still drum."
Or a moon that shines its love-light, pointing to places where new life will begin, with a kiss. The moon is a spoon, according to Bob Dylan. "That big, fat moon is gonna shine like a spoon/But we’re gonna let it/You won’t regret it/Kick your shoes off, do not fear."
The Great Wall of China is the only man-made thing that can be seen from it. "It's a great wall", according to Ronald Reagan, wittiest President ever.
Monday. Day of beginnings.
"In my beginning is my end", wrote T.S.Eliot. "Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,/Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place/Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass./Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,/Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth."
When he arrived on the moon Buzz Aldrin smelt moondust for the first time, and it smelt of ash, like gunpowder.
Monday. Day of new smells, day of fireworks, day of explosive, soaring possibilities.