I am after beauty–
searching for it, an old friend
who vanished, but returned
~in the glorious pink of dawn~
the moon sings farewell
as she sets over the blue river,
and a heron soars white
~in a soft wind-whisper~
I hear life,
in shadowed language, full of ifs,
the scent of summer rain,
the light after the storm clouds part.
It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it? And it may get worse before it gets better. But I decided to consult the Oracle, and she’s given a hopeful message. Happy New Year to all of you!
(This started as a Puente, but it just kept going, sort of like this year.)