Black night, sliver of moon making
no promise.
The small sliver, barely noticed by humans sheltered in their homes. If it seeps into their field of vision, they may glance from their heated hibernation.
Tell a stranger on the street to look up at the moon and they will curl a perplexed, patronizing brow for your unsolicited order. For the moon misses nothing, and holds it’s secrets tight.
Others are more than mere gawkers. They brave the cold to make a visit to the moon. Even when it appears the moon has turned it’s back. They intrude, not allowing for withdrawal
and silence.
They love, no matter if the object of their love is constantly changing. And they get little in return. And are often ignored and pushed away. Their egoless selves keep coming back.
And then, out of the darkness,
a crescendo of light flows back into
the empty sphere.
With each day, pieces of shadowed crevices are bathed in a silver glow.
The full moon, the ‘grande dame’ receives the highest of praises.
Bright, fearless and unflappable;
the delusion of perfection.
Seeing the earth below and
Shedding light onto remote
sacred spaces.
To continue on, to surrender control,
recognizing its weightless suspension in space as an opportunity to explore.
– Anne Koplin