Spring Night

The crescent moon tilts higher, no longer an equinoctial smile, but a bowl being emptied. A spring night pours out, full of fresh scents and soft, rustling leaves. The softness drenches the forest, the chorus of frogs greets the pale light, bats flutter about feasting on the season's insect bounty. Buds are waiting to open when dawn bids them, sleeping birds perhaps dream of the songs they will sing tomorrow. A few clouds drift by, catching the light and transforming it into flowing draperies. This stage invites a soliloquy, but I stand alone amid this splendor and remain speechless.

( Sunday Verse )