Sunday, November 16, 2008
A taste of the moon and a song of light
Someone is stealing pieces of the moon again, night after night, small bites. Outside it is so still the wind does not breathe. Around the lights of the house moths dance and beyond them aerymice sing hunting songs. Across the mottled sky the band of light from the lighthouse swings. The spring runs silver in the muted moonlight, singing a counterpoint to the bats.