Far away, storms eat winds and send them swirling–
but here, now, the sky is gowned in midnight blue
and a peach moon shines over sleeping gardens.
The fiddler plays a soft lullaby
recalling dreams of aching beauty–
and if I don’t understand them all,
I recognize the song of whisperings seas,
and the beat of heron wings, the language of seasons,
of hope and despair, and I smile at the dawning light.
The Magnetic Poetry Oracle gave me a poem today that I think goes with Ingrid Wilson’s publication, The Anthropocene Hymnal. It’s available now. Read her post here for information. All money earned from it goes to the World Wildlife Fund.
I have one poem in the volume, and the beautiful cover is by Kerfe Roig.
The July full moon is called the Buck Moon, but I think it should be a peach moon. I was hoping to see it early this morning, but it was already too low in the sky. I did see Jupiter though–and
I saw this heron today and wondered if it was “my” heron from last summer.