Meeting the shards of everyday finally turned passe//
this evening, there was time that I caught for myself amidst all the scurried travelling I had to do.
Nothing remarkable, the good ole beautiful full-moon, wafting right up there, seeming closer than the days of yore, not so white when I saw (looked like there was a pale brown translucent wrap around it) breathing those soothing rays, watching over many things. And in those few moments, I might have held on to promises I made, hopes I had and forgotten pains and these overwhelming times - I'm not too sure what happened as I closed my eyes for those precious few and opened them back to be able to see the moon and only it. It doesn't matter, does it? Simple, plain, shining through the night sky, as it has at the end of the lunar months for eons. Overwritten through songs and literature, made dense by philosophers, an easy muse of lovers, master of high tides and yet it lays a becalming charm upon those who spare a few moments to witness it in its full glory. The quirky celestial being.
Mayhaps I write this so one day when the skies go dark, on a moonless night, I could talk to my grandchildren of what moonbeams could do with the same ambiguity I have right now. No, I'm certainly not complaining :).
this evening, there was time that I caught for myself amidst all the scurried travelling I had to do.
Nothing remarkable, the good ole beautiful full-moon, wafting right up there, seeming closer than the days of yore, not so white when I saw (looked like there was a pale brown translucent wrap around it) breathing those soothing rays, watching over many things. And in those few moments, I might have held on to promises I made, hopes I had and forgotten pains and these overwhelming times - I'm not too sure what happened as I closed my eyes for those precious few and opened them back to be able to see the moon and only it. It doesn't matter, does it? Simple, plain, shining through the night sky, as it has at the end of the lunar months for eons. Overwritten through songs and literature, made dense by philosophers, an easy muse of lovers, master of high tides and yet it lays a becalming charm upon those who spare a few moments to witness it in its full glory. The quirky celestial being.
Mayhaps I write this so one day when the skies go dark, on a moonless night, I could talk to my grandchildren of what moonbeams could do with the same ambiguity I have right now. No, I'm certainly not complaining :).
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