The Moon Tonight

I grew up in the country ... not on a farm, but in the country ... away from city lights.

As a result of that ... and hearing my gandfather talk so many times about the phases of the moon ... its importance in the planting of crops ... knowing about its pull on those distant oceans ... its effect on young lovers ... I was always intrigued by the moon.

The front porch swing provided a great vantage point for watching the giant harvest moon rising slowly over the hills.

I remember being so intrigued by the quarter moon ... the new moon ... the moon showing in the late daytime sky.

When one lives in the city, though, the moon can become a forgotten item ... unless it really asserts itself as we're coming up the driveway on a late-winter evening.

Then there's no denying it. I still remember that evening ... can almost hear a choir, singing a cappella, celebrating the rising of that moon.

The poem:

THE MOON TONIGHT

What a gorgeous sight,

lodged in the darkness

of the walnut tree,

the nearer maples joining

to hold it, glowing

in the late-winter sky,

broken, and yet whole,

like a stained-glass

window catching evening

light, holding it high

under the ceiling while

voices rise in song.

©

2004

(originally published in Capper's)

***

Today's word:

a cappella

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thank you for stopping by, Leigh ... and for leaving a comment. That's not required, of course, but always appreciated ... and I'm especially pleased when someone indicates that they can see the picture I've tried to paint with my words. Then I know I've succeeded. And I agree ... children who "grow up with paved playgrounds miss out on so much."

Oh, thank you, Southernmush. I'm delighted that you feel this poem brings the moon to life. I hope you're feeling better, too. Take care.