What Moth? What Butterfly?

The raucous owls were silent in their bamboo haunts
this morning as I rushed up the hill to meet the moon
emerging from her umbral shadow,
from her ombre ochre cocoon.

What moth will she become?
What butterfly will I?

I sat a moment at the junction where my road
meets the ridge, Mt. Pisgah Road before me,
then the tidy fence,
the dusky hill meadow,
a lacy line of trees across the hilltop,
and the changing moon above in chestnut orange glory
nestled into the indigo dawning.

I caught glimpses of her on my way down the ridge
and then in my mirror as I crossed the bridge
over the water and under the last dusk of night
and I saw then that she was only now just fading into the shadow,
only entering her transformation.

I had to leave her there behind me to do her work
behind the veils of dusky morning
while I drove into the shining pink of sunrise,
Venus riding high before me
and two crows above,
lifting their wings in alleluia.


Gratitude List:
1.  Moon.  Moon.  Moon.
2.  So much happiness everywhere.  Other things, too, but happiness.  Joy.  You see it when you look.
3.  I feel a little like I am a bit of a den mother for some of the PSATers.  I love being a den mother of something.
4.  That slant of light.  You know?  That slant of light.  Oh yes: the sycamore IN that slant of light.  We mustn’t–no we daresn’t–forget the sycamore in that slant of light.
5.  And then there were the children off on their way for the fire house open house with their dad.  So much cuteness.  And now, I must make hay while the sun shines or be the mouse playing while the cats are away, or something.  For I have grading to do, and some child-free time in which to do it.

May we walk in Beauty!  So much Beauty!


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