Hymn to Selene
O Sister of the night, my radiant Selene,
With silver light, you grace the darkened skies,
As I, Helios, the sun, retreat beyond the scene,
You rise, serene, with beauty in your eyes.

Your gentle beams calm the weary soul,
And guide the lost along their winding way,
Through silent nights, you keep the watchful role,
Till dawn returns to bring another day.

Your crescent smiles upon the tranquil seas,
And stirs the dreams of those who gaze above,
You weave the night with soft, celestial ease,
A symbol pure of endless, tender love.

O Selene, queen of the starry veil,
Your brother sings your praises from afar,
In every twilight where our paths prevail,
You are the night’s eternal guiding star.
Helios, Hydra August 2024

I was sitting at Hydra's only real nightclub, Amalour, which sits right where the restaurant street begins—or ends, depending on whether you're coming from the harbour or heading there. I was sipping on an Ouzo with water, a refreshing drink for an August evening, when, even a quarter to midnight, the temperature still hovered at thirty-three degrees. It was impossible to miss her—the woman carried herself with a calm, almost dreamlike grace, moving between the tables with the ease of someone deeply connected to the rhythms of nature. Her presence was soothing, bringing peace and tranquillity, just like the full moon in the sky above brought calm to the night. Her appearance in a place like Amalour, known for its lively atmosphere, was a stark contrast, adding to the mystery of her presence. She sat down on the chair beside me, a sudden and unexpected presence in the familiar surroundings. A man my age doesn't expect a young woman to appear so unexpectedly. But her presence was not jarring; it was like a balm to the senses, a respite from the heat and the noise of the nightclub.

"Hi, how are you doing?" she said, her voice as soft and serene as the night itself, a gentle breeze that carried the tranquillity of the moonlit night. She looked exactly as I imagined a goddess might—her ethereal figure embodied the moon's soft, luminous qualities. Her skin was pale and glowing, almost as if lit from within, reflecting the moonlight she seemed intimately connected to. Her eyes, deep and serene, mirrored the shifting phases of the moon, perhaps a cool silver or a deep, reflective blue, evoking the calm and mystery of a moonlit night. Who was she, this ethereal being who seemed to have stepped out of a myth? I was captivated by her, my fascination growing with each passing moment.

Her hair, a cascade of moonbeams, was a soft, golden white, flowing and delicate, moving like a gentle breeze as it framed her face with otherworldly grace. Her features were smooth and harmonious, with a serene expression conveying wisdom and a quiet, powerful presence. She was dressed in flowing, diaphanous garments—robes of silvery white that shimmered like moonlight on water. As she moved, the fabric rippled gently as though touched by the night wind. Subtle, celestial jewellery adorned her—perhaps a crescent moon pendant and delicate bracelets that jingled softly, like stars singing in the night sky. Her beauty was not of this world, and I could not look away.

Her entire being was a living reflection of the moon, embodying its timeless elegance and gentle strength, making her presence impossible to ignore. It's astonishing how much one can take in with a glance, though I certainly didn’t want to stare as if I were interested in a flirtation. Perhaps she was testing me, or maybe it was a prank set up by some good friends.

"Fine, and it is a fantastic moon tonight," I replied, deciding to play along, knowing it was likely part of some mischievous game.

"Isn't it?" she said, sounding like she had arranged it herself. "But it won't be at its most beautiful until tomorrow after lunch, though you won't see it then, blinded by my brother Helios—twenty-six minutes after two in the afternoon, to be exact. My sister Eos, I can usually handle; she tends to drown in her rosy dawn." Her voice remained perfectly natural, without a trace of pretence. That's when it struck me—I could hear her perfectly despite the loud music inside Amalour and my less-than-perfect hearing.

"You're not from the island," I said cautiously, trying to see where this led.

"That's right…"

"From far away, maybe?"

"You could say that…"

"How far?"

"Sirius B, though it’s not really called that…"

"That's not too far…"

"Relatively speaking, not particularly—8.6 light-years, as your astronomers would say. Practically next door," she said softly. At that moment, I realized why I could hear her voice inside me, not drowned out by the music. The revelation was staggering, yet I was strangely calm in her presence. The shock of her revelation was quickly replaced by a sense of acceptance. I found myself embracing her otherworldly nature as a bridge between us, rather than a barrier. It was a testament to the adaptability of the human mind in the face of the extraordinary.

"Then maybe your name is Selene…"

"You're well-informed," she laughed.

"I've met Time-travelers before," I said, recalling the strange encounters I've had in the past. Each one had left an indelible mark on me, and I couldn't help but wonder what this meeting would bring.

"I could sense the vibrations. And yes, Selene is my name." She extended a pale hand.

"George and I live on the island half the year," I introduced myself as naturally as possible with a moon goddess beside me. "So, you are *the* Selene," I said, nodding upwards toward the deep, night-blue sky.

"The very same. Selene is the personification of the moon. A goddess once worshipped at the new and full moons. My parents are the Titans Hyperion and Theia, my older brother Helios is the sun god, and my younger sister Eos is the goddess of Dawn."

From inside Amalour, a rock ballad by Queen and Freddie Mercury played—‘Who Wants to Live Forever,’ a hauntingly prophetic song, given that Mercury passed away from AIDS five years later. I glanced up at the full moon, a symbol of love and longing, which seemed to smile at me knowingly. The DJ transitioned to a slower tempo, something that probably suited romantics like me, but the moon above seemed to mock me, sticking out its tongue. Indeed, it preferred the original version. Selene, sitting beside me, showed no such reaction. Her serene expression remained unchanged as if the music did not affect her, adding to the enigma.

"A cover of the classic and, for tonight, highly appropriate ‘Moonlight Serenade’ by Alfie Boe," she noted, her voice calm. "It was recorded just a year or so ago. Boe is an English actor and singer primarily known for his work in musical theatre, such as Les Misérables and Finding Neverland on Broadway. His version is modern and schmaltzy, far from Glenn Miller’s swinging original." Her knowledge and appreciation of music added another layer of intrigue to her fascinating persona.

"Miller would have been better in my ears, but I’ve come to understand that swing music isn’t something the younger generations connect with," Selene said, her brow furrowing slightly.

"I agree, Miller would have been a better choice."

"As you might guess, I was involved when Glenn Miller got that song right. I came to him in a dream to ensure I got my tribute," Selene said with a subtle, playful tilt of her head. " I've always had a soft spot for Miller's music. It's like he was composing just for me, capturing all the emotions I couldn't put into words."

"In what way?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.

"‘Moonlight Serenade’ is an American swing ballad composed by Glenn Miller, with subsequent lyrics by Mitchell Parish. It became an immediate phenomenon when it was released in May 1939 as an instrumental arrangement. However, it was adopted and performed as Miller's signature tune as early as 1938, even before it was named ‘Moonlight Serenade.’ In 1991, Miller's ‘Moonlight Serenade’ recording was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame. That’s what I made sure of," she said with a soft, self-assured smile.

"That was wise."

"The dreamy, super-romantic ballad was Glenn Miller's breakout hit, but it was years in the making. He wrote the melody in 1935 when he was a trombone player in Ray Noble's band. The lyricist Eddie Heyman added words, and the song was titled 'As I Lay Me Down To Weep.' That version sounded different, reaching out to anyone under the moon, whether full or not," Selene added, her voice laced with a touch of wistful nostalgia for a time long gone.

As she spoke, I could almost hear the melody of that earlier version echoing somewhere in the depths of history, touching every soul who had ever looked up at the night sky and felt the moon's gentle pull.

“Weep for the moon
For the moon has no reason to glow now
Weep for the rose
For the rose has no reason to grow now
The rivers won't flow now
As I lay me down To weep.”

"Miller never recorded or published the song with these lyrics, but in 1938, he used the instrumental as the theme music for his radio broadcasts. In 1939, the publisher Robbins Music bought the melody and had Mitchell Parish, the same guy who wrote ‘Stardust,’ rewrite the lyrics, titling it ‘Wind In The Trees’—and those scoundrels skipped the moon entirely." Selene’s expression shifted to mild disapproval, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she still couldn’t quite forgive them for such an oversight.

Before the war, Miller had formed his own band and was preparing to record a song called "Sunrise Serenade" by Frankie Carle. "Someone at Robbins suggested that Parish write lyrics for a complementary B-side titled 'Moonlight Serenade,' creating a thematic pairing. Parish wrote the lyrics, but Miller recorded 'Moonlight Serenade' as an instrumental," she continued, her voice taking on a slightly nostalgic tone as she recounted the story. Her fingers drummed lightly on the table in rhythm with the tune playing in her mind.

"When the single was released, 'Sunrise Serenade' made it onto the charts, but it was quickly surpassed by 'Moonlight Serenade,' which climbed to number three and became Miller's signature tune." She tilted her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips as if savouring the song's victory that nearly missed its chance to shine. "But there were just a few performances where Miller included a vocalist. It wasn’t until 1959 that a version with lyrics gained popularity, recorded by the doo-wop group The Rivieras."

She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting off as if recalling the sound of that doo-wop rendition. "However, the most renowned vocal version was by Frank Sinatra, who recorded it in 1966 for his album ‘Moonlight Sinatra’."

As she spoke, I suddenly heard Frank's voice inside my mind, but with a feminine touch, as if Selene was channelling the crooner's timeless serenade. Her lips moved softly, almost imperceptibly, as though she were singing along in perfect harmony with the memory.

I watched her, entranced, as the melody seemed to linger between us, bridging the gap between past and present and infusing the warm August night with a touch of magic.

“I stand at your gate
And the song that I sing is of moonlight
I stand, and I wait
For the touch of your hand on the August night
The roses are sighing
A moonlight serenade

The stars are aglow
And tonight, how their light sets me dreaming
My love, do you know
That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?
I bring you, and I sing you
A moonlight serenade

Let us stray till break of day
In love's valley of dreams
Just you and I, a summer sky
A heavenly breeze, kiss in the trees

So don't let me wait.
Come to me tenderly on the August night
I stand at your gate
And I sing you a song in the moonlight
A love song, my darling
A moonlight serenade.”
Mitchell Parish/Glenn Miller

“The lyric is about two lovers spending a romantic night together. It's a seductive song where the singer serenades his lover in the moonlight on an August evening. Sung by Sinatra, it's very effective.” Selene’s eyes seemed to shimmer as she spoke, her voice carrying the soft cadence of someone who truly lived in the song’s world. She leaned in slightly, her hand resting lightly on the table to draw me closer to the moment.

Her expression was serene, almost wistful, as if she were recalling a memory rather than just describing a melody. I mirrored her posture, leaning in, captivated by how her words painted pictures as vividly as the moonlight.

“Miller created a new sound with a high-leading clarinet leading over the saxophone section with this song. That kind of sound made Glenn Miller's orchestra famous. If you listen closely, you'll hear that there are actually two melodies—the clarinet and the saxophone—and they create the whole song together.” Her fingers traced the air as if conducting the invisible orchestra, her movements graceful and fluid.

I nodded, imagining the melodies intertwining, just as she described. Her presence made it easy to see the music, to feel it in the air between us. The corners of her lips turned up in a slight smile, and her eyes sparkled with a knowing warmth as if the music was an old friend she was introducing me to.

“Seventy-five years later, the Glenn Miller Orchestra—still muted and satin-smooth—continues to open and close every appearance with ‘Moonlight Serenade.’ Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could entice them to Hydra?” I said, half-joking, but the thought of that timeless music filling the island’s night air seemed suddenly possible, if not magical.

Selene tilted her head slightly, her smile widening as if she were genuinely considering the idea. “It would be quite the serenade under this sky,” she replied, her voice soft and melodic, almost as if she were already hearing the distant echoes of the orchestra on the breeze.

We both sat in comfortable silence for a moment, our thoughts swirling with the idea of music, moonlight, and the island's enchantment. The sounds from inside Amalour faded into the background, leaving just the two of us bathed in the gentle glow of the night, each movement and expression a dance in harmony with the serenade we both imagined.

I nodded, intrigued by the layers of history she seemed to carry with her. "This tradition of serenading under the full moon has deep roots, doesn’t it? I’ve heard it dates back to medieval times—with the troubadours."

Selene smiled, her eyes reflecting a soft glimmer of approval. "Indeed, it does. The tradition of serenading under a full moon is as old as romance. In the Middle Ages, troubadours, those wandering poets and musicians, would compose and perform chivalry and courtly love songs. They’d sing outside the windows of their beloveds, often under the moon's watchful eye, using her light to illuminate their heartfelt words. With her gentle glow, the moon was the perfect backdrop for these late-night serenades, creating an atmosphere of mystery and longing. The night would be still, the world quiet, and the only sound was the soft strum of a lute or the plaintive notes of a flute carried on the night breeze. It was a time when words and music intertwined, crafting a spellbinding moment that lingered long after the song ended."

"So, people have always sung at night?" I asked, trying to delve deeper into the history she was so familiar with.

"Of course," Selene replied with a knowing smile. "Men have been singing for their sweethearts in the dead of night for as long as I’ve been lighting the scene. The moonlight has always been a silent companion, casting its soft glow on moments of passion and yearning. The moon has witnessed whispered words, stolen kisses, and songs that carry the heart’s deepest desires from ancient times. Whether it was a shepherd with his pipe in ancient Greece or a knight serenading his lady from below her tower window, the moon has always been there, an ever-present muse, bathing the world in her silvery light and making every word, every note, feel that much more poignant."

Her words painted vivid pictures of countless nights throughout history on which the moon played its part in the stories of love.

I decided to change the subject slightly. "Speaking of moon goddesses, I’ve heard the Incas had one too—your cousin, perhaps?"

Selene chuckled softly, a musical sound that harmonised with the night. "Ah, you must be thinking of Mama Quilla. Yes, she’s my cousin. The Inca people revered her as the goddess of the moon, protector of women, and keeper of the calendar. Like me, she was associated with the passage of time, the cycles of the moon, and the rhythms of life. The Incas believed that she cried silver tears, so they valued silver as a sacred metal. Mama Quilla’s light guided their way just as mine does here, and she was honoured in grand festivals under the Andean skies."

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of moon goddesses sharing familial ties across cultures. "Why do dogs howl at the full moon?" I asked, curious to hear her take on that age-old mystery.

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound. "Well, they’re simply singing along, of course! When the moon is full, it’s at its brightest, and the dogs, with their keen senses, are drawn to its light. They howl not out of fear or discomfort but as a way of joining the nocturnal symphony. To them, the moon is like a conductor in the sky, and they’re just contributing their voices to the grand performance. Besides, it’s their way of showing appreciation for the moon's beauty—an ancient instinct that still lingers."

Her whimsical explanation made me chuckle. "What about vampires and the full moon?" I asked, unable to resist bringing up another legendary connection.

She raised an eyebrow, her smile turning playful. "Vampires? Ah, those charming creatures of the night. The full moon might cast a dramatic light on their nocturnal activities, but let’s be honest—they much prefer the new moon’s darkness. It's easier to move about unseen, wouldn’t you agree? The full moon might give them away with all that brightness. And as for the folklore…well, let’s say the moon has seen many things, but the vampire stories are more for your entertainment than for any real connection to me."

I grinned, enjoying the lighthearted banter, then glanced at her jewellery, drawn to the large stone in her necklace and the matching earrings. "What’s your favourite piece of jewellery?" I asked, curious about the significance of the gleaming stone.

Selene’s hand gently touched the stone at her throat, and she smiled softly. "As you can see, it’s a moonstone." The stone shimmered with a soft, milky light, almost like capturing the moon's glow. "Moonstone has always been associated with me—it’s said to hold the moon's power, to bring balance, calm, and serenity. Its light is subtle, like moonlight reflected on water, and it’s thought to enhance intuition and bring out one’s inner beauty. This one," she said, holding it up slightly so that it caught the light, "is especially dear to me, as it was formed in the heart of a meteor that travelled from the stars long before your earth was even formed. It carries the essence of the moon and the cosmos, a perfect blend of my world and yours."

The stone glowed gently, reflecting a rainbow of colours as she turned it slightly. It was mesmerising, almost as if it were alive, holding within it the mysteries of the universe.

When the DJ played "Moonlight Sunrise," a romantic pop song with influences of both R&B and dance-pop by the South Korean girl group TWICE, Selene and I felt it was enough. Even though the lyrics use the moonlight as a metaphor for love and passion, the song quickly became popular internationally but didn’t suit our old and conservative ears. In the next moment, Selene had vanished, but I noticed that the moon up above had pulled its tongue back in.