a message for you.
please excuse my dust as this blog site is still under construction.
if it fell, no net to catch it, it would just plummet to earth, flinging moonbeams far & wide as it hurtled our way, & if lucky, we would catch one, & then what would we do? you can't tame a moonbeam, you know. would we search for a cage & try to keep it still, try to contain it? & can't you just see that little bit of hilarity, the moonbeam shooting between the bars as we rushed after it, arms close together as we tried to catch its tail, hands slapping shut on nothing, on emptiness, as it zipped through our grasp? no, no, we couldn't cage it, & if we put it in a box with holes punched in the top, it would escape through those holes. the same with a jar; it would find its way out.
lucky for us it didn't fall.
i sit here & (insert word) at myself for writing such silliness about the moon - such absurdities - thinking to understand it, when the truth of the moon is that it was just there when i walked out my door, shimmering white against all that blue, just like i said, just there, & i stood for a moment, balanced between it & the sun, which had not yet set. no poetry can come close to the realness of that sky, the magic of those few moments - the birds were not yet in for the night & i imagined the woodpecker on the hackberry tree to be joining me in this bit of dreamy reverie, i pretended the mockingbirds' songs were summertime carols for the sky. in just minutes the sun was gone & the sky was dark & stars joined the moon & the birds fell silent, asleep in their nests. the cicadas took up their song & another night surrounded me, the heat of the night so much different than the daytime heat. such a small piece of time, such small moments, but the best. the best when the days i was in his arms. this feeling of those night.Labels: cicadas, lucky, magic, moon, realness, silliness, small moments., summertime carols, tightrope
