The last time I saw the moon was a rare bluish dawn about a week ago. The sky has been a relentless damp grey ever since.
But I know it’s there.
moon murmurs seed secrets
that shine through
the shaded blanket
of night season
like the poetry of bird dawn
I follow between,
waiting, watching
for wind
to uncover and open
the light
K. 
The moon at blush dawn is beautiful.
You’re right that mine adds the color to yours.
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There’s something about the moon at dawn.
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There definitely is. I love any daytime moon though.
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Shaded blanket is a fine analogy. Winter is a sort of blanket, too. I hope to better appreciate winter’s blanket, me being a summer sort of person. All the moods of nature have deep purpose, but it takes a bit of faith sometimes to discern the reasons why. Lovely, elegant poem, Kerfe.
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Thanks Aletha. Winter is my least favorite season because of the cold and the oppressive short dark days. Still, it has its beauty. And maybe we’re really meant to hibernate, except we keep pretending otherwise.
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Beautiful.
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Thanks Ken. I know you are a faithful observer of the moon.
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Lovely opening line, and yes, that’s the wind’s job, to let the light come through.
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It’s been slacking lately.
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Found poetry, just beautiful as the moon!
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Thanks Elizabeth.
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I wait with you, Kerfe – we’ve also had pretty relentless grey skies!
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A blue sky today at last! I don’t even mind that it’s very cold.
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The same here!
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Second stanza especially, yea. And Second moon photo here, well, the socks come off for that. Image near unseen, yet quietly immense (like home, but more). Not a tease, like no, you can’t have this – but that house seen really by virtue only of two lit windows. My oh my. It’s a poem all in & of itself.
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Thanks Neil. Light does tell its own story.
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