Late in the evening, long after the sun has kissed us all goodnight
The moon rises, his hue soft and deep, enfolding me with his dusky rays
Bending round the clouds and trees, he shows me.
Creation alive and vibrant, and yet at-rest.
Ceasing from her labors of the day, she rises to her reign at eventide.
The owl in the old tree next door directs the symphony of the night.
His strategic and penetrating wha-wha-who-who-who is heard above the Mockingbird’s insistent chatter.
The crickets join in at the chorus, my eyes twinkle and my ear strains to hear who has the melody in this cacophony of sound.
The owl sings to his mate in another tree as the breeze flutters the ears of the fawn who munches mindlessly in my garden below.
She lifts her head and swishes her tail and, assessing she’s among friends,
dips her head once again to focus on her feast.
My Clematis bush shudders as its blossoms disappear with a munch.
I’d just exited the freeway, and was driving down the little highway leading to my sister’s home. I was looking forward to seeing everyone, and knew that we’d laugh, share stories and Thanksgiving dinner as soon as I arrived. I had a few moments of quiet ponderings yet, and I looked out across the horizon.
The afternoon sun shone across the plowed fields, with a few head of cattle here and there noshing on the leftover cornstalks. It’s not unusual to see a good-sized train making its way across the country, and I’ll recognize cargo from San Franscisco Bay. Where is he headed? I passed the beaver pond with its piles and piles of wood heaps. Marshy waters, tired cat-tails and yellowed prairie grasses stood in the stillness. I didn’t stop but I let the peacefulness of the sight wash over me.
Some gals dream about the future, and want things to be just so. They find deep satisfaction in planning how it’s all going to go. She’ll wear the red dress with her black heels, and have her hair up. And there are men who will be satisfied when they get that shelving unit installed or the spare bedroom carpeted. Some girls insist on roses but why won’t a daisy do? I’m kind of funny, I guess. I don’t know if it’s because I need to learn to dream or if I so absolutely live in my moments.
The hubbub of my days is consumed with my search for a bit of something for my spirit to nibble on. A strawberry sunrise while in a traffic jam…how else do you get strawberry jam? Snowflakes…just because. Napping with my cats in the sunshine. Seeing the look in a friend’s eye when you have shared with one another, deeply from the heart.
Beauty, yes. Or is it life?