My eldest sister who long since passed away was an actor and prolific writer of poetry. Keeper of her many handwritten musings, I thought of the simple lines she once wrote when I recently spied the moon out my window during a sleepless pre-dawn hour.
Her words could be interpreted in different ways. They might be an ode to the courage it can take when one feels small beneath another's glow. Indeed, the moon itself seemed to struggle to be seen as clouds drifted by, obscuring its light.
After the clouds passed, the moon put on a show. My photos were woefully inadequate.
Bewitched by the sight, my imagination was stirred and I wrote a few words.
When morning came, daylight cast a less sentimental spell.
Clouds transformed into cottony fluff after squeezing out a few drops.
A big log lay in the dust like a slain beast, showing even giants can be brought down.
The neighbourhood cat sauntered by, somewhat like a character in the children's rhyme
"Hey, diddle, diddle", it had no intention of playing second fiddle to the moon.
Explore more at
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SKYWATCH and
Saturday's Critters.
