This is the third in a series of four poems composed during the pandemic.. I wanted to focus on the great beauty of earth even in the times of trial.
In a bold pas-de-deux, Mother Moon sprightly counters Warrior Tree,
Their dance emboldens dawn’s rising,
cloaking them in a
halo of golden white mist
In times of trial, Mother Moon
waits in the pre-dawn,
pointing the way for
wayward soul seekers.
Dark clouds threaten to
obscure her brightness,
but surrender to rise and move away,
Halos of light diffuse outward becoming less defined,
She counters and slips lower on the western sky.
As her brother rises on the eastern horizon.
The Universe transposes the Moon’s song into Sun.