Good night tonight. Reality and nature confirming thought and concept, direction, goals.
Same old backyard; birdfeeders by the graveyard bush protecting chickadees and junkos from the hawk, old peach and apple trees aligned for mowing and a simple mind that couldn’t comprehend a curve, distant light of neighbors wary of intruders, field where a horse named Bandit we fed cabbage leaves and apples now is buried. In summer light all green and full with spots of colored blooms. In darkest night of nothing seen and creatures heard. Tonight a hunter’s moon reflecting off a coverlet of snow and I can count the tree trunks amid the brush a football field away.
All the same unyielding scene except alone for one’s perception, and of course, a different slant of light rewrites the story.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology