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

mrk-harvest-2016 I find myself awash in watery reflections, as I watch her float slowly, silently 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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