Friday, September 16, 2016

O/T: As A Harvest Moon Rises, Over The City's Steel And Glass Canyons...

I find myself awash in watery reflections, as I watch her float silently, slowly and gracefully upward, unconstrained by any observable celestial limit, this late evening. . .

The memories come thick as snowflakes, three months hence. . . and I am grateful. Eternally. . . grateful.

Under the Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

-- Carl Sandburg (1905)

So, sometimes, the physics of shepherded moons, should yield to the. . . mysticisms, of my youth. This is one of those times. Now you know. And she does, too. . . G'night, all.


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