In the quiet
splendor of a predawn morn
the moon gilds the hoophouse in shiny opulence.
Lace-riven cloud formations circle the sky
with the moon at their apex high above the earth
circling quiet, like a giant snow globe.
How could anyone have ever thought this world flat?
And I, an inconsequential ant of a being
invade the quiet on a shuffle across the snow
in my husband’s boots and a hand-me-down coat
and my daddy’s hat with the flashlight
of my mother’s trepidation
in my pocket just in case.
the moon gilds the hoophouse in shiny opulence.
Lace-riven cloud formations circle the sky
with the moon at their apex high above the earth
circling quiet, like a giant snow globe.
How could anyone have ever thought this world flat?
And I, an inconsequential ant of a being
invade the quiet on a shuffle across the snow
in my husband’s boots and a hand-me-down coat
and my daddy’s hat with the flashlight
of my mother’s trepidation
in my pocket just in case.
How's your life today on Planet Earth? the poets at What't Going On? ask. "Those of us who write frequently might give ourselves a break on days when we simply show up."
As I once heard a wise person say, half of life is showing up."