Still virgin morning, after twilight moon does not set even though we are transitioning from night into day. It kind of dissolves like a Tums in the Pepto Bismol sky, and knowing how we treat Mother Nature lately, that comparison might not be that hard to believe.
No, but I’m picturing dark blues coming to from God’s dusky fingers. That yellow orange purple glow. Clouds mapping their own artwork, trickling down pigmented paint from the brush made of Pegasus-hair. Artwork of the Gods. Always changing, never the same. It’s Freestyle Love Supreme in Nature. Even before the final shard of light has departed and melted into a clear, darkish blue sky of night, the moon rises up from it’s hiding place and shines down on all of us. How I would love to know the moon in the forest, in a desolate location – anywhere that’s not the city or suburbs although – the moon hanging over the Manhattan skyline does make for a pretty mental snapshot, jumping off the diving board into deep thoughts about life and love. As if Moonstruck could still be a story told today. Maybe it could, I’m not sure.
The moon rules all menstrual cycles and ocean waves and I love it and am in love with it. She is wise. She’s seen a lot, allegedly a broken piece of our own planet rock. Forever entwined in orbit. Chewing gum.