April Moon Fading

Particular delights are brought by each moon. The moon of April sometimes coincides (as it did this year) with the emergence of seed stems and small, young leaves on the mulberry tree. Later in the year, the crowd of full leaves will cast an almost solid shadow. Earlier in the year, the shadow was a stark tangle of bare branches. But when the April moon shines on the mulberry, the stems and young leaves turn the shadow to a fine brocade. As the moon passes west, this intricate pattern of light and shade is drawn across the lawn and the walks, and up the side of the house, until the sky grows pale with approaching dawn. This phenomenon lasts only a few nights, while the moon is near the full, and bright enough to pick out the intricate detail. This year, because the sky was shrouded by clouds for several nights, there were only two nights on which I could clearly see the shadow brocade. Tonight, it was too dim, but the previous two nights it was quite lovely. Next month, the tree will be dense with leaves, and the moon of May will reveal some other wonder.

Gray

The gray returned today, with an obscure sun casting feeble shadows which paled with passing afternoon. The flowers of the sourgrass remained closed all day. Evening's chilly air is dense, and scented with impending rain. Still, the birds are chirping, getting on with the business of spring, building nests and finding mates. I weave my moods out of what nature provides, the active recipient of passive gifts. Each of these days is not like the other. I feel like grass waiting to be watered.