The moon’s breath

Sunrise this morning.

The morning sings.
The egg-shaped moon
is exhaling clouds.
I breathe in and
exhale a song of my own.
I listen
as the symphony of birds
respond with hymns
of spring.

Morning moon and clouds.

About a week ago I wrote a little something about fog being like the breath of the moon resting in the trees.  This morning the moon’s breath stayed in the sky, surrounding her, obscuring her, giving little glimpses of her, and finally baring her egg-shaped light to the rising sun and all who were looking.

Almost hidden.

The clouds, I thought, looked almost like silk.  Smooth, soft, flowing.

Peek-a-boo.

I watched and listened.  The birds have quite a lot to sing about lately.  I can’t interpret their songs exactly, but it does sound as if they are enjoying the spring, each other, and the nesting process.  There are even a few babies out and about.  The Carolina Wrens that built a nest in the Weathervane building have already released their first brood.

A dance.

I enjoy my morning practice of sunrise and moon-set, of asana and breath, of chanting and meditation.  It is a refuge of sorts that brings warmth and light to my heart, joy to my body, calm to my mind.

Letting go.

Thank you so much for your comments and thoughts on my last post.  I’ll get around to responding soon.  I feel as though I didn’t explain myself well.  It is difficult to find words to explain how hopes feel so passive to me whereas dreams or imagination bring with them possibilities and plans and action.  I wouldn’t want to be hopeless, of course.  Nor do I think we should be.  Perhaps it’s a matter of semantics more than it is a matter of the words themselves.  At any rate, I do believe we all do what we can, as we can, and who can or would ask for more than that?

I suppose what I’m wishing for are the voices of compassion and reason to become more evident and obvious in the grand scheme of things and in the media.  I know those people are out there because *I* hear them.  And maybe I’m wrong in wishing for us to be louder.  We probably can’t out-shout the noisiness of fear, of conspiracies, of violence (make no mistake — a great deal of what is going on, including the likely ban on abortion, is violence against women, against BIPOC, against the LGBTQ community), and fascism.

They say that when you’re dealing with a toddler who is loudly crying and shouting and throwing a tantrum, it’s best to speak very quietly, in a whisper, so that they have to turn down their own volume in order to hear.  Maybe it’s like that.

There she is.

Thank you, too, for visiting with me again.  Let’s meet out at the Point for sunset.  It’s scheduled for 8:11 PM.  It’s hot and humid today.  We might want to go for a wade.  I hear the water is still fairly cold (temps in the 50’s F).  Bring water shoes.  As lovely as it is at the Point, the risk of stepping on a sharp shell or glass is pretty high.  I never go into the water there without shoes.

Please be safe, be well, and speak the good words to yourself and to others.  ♥

In the evening, rest.

A few of the 10,000 reasons to be happy:  2,021)  A season of peonies and watching them from start to almost finish.  2,022)  A morning with the sun and moon and clouds.  2,023)  The grace of letting go when it’s done with ease.  2,024)  Squirrels and rabbits making their way past the office window this morning.  It’s like a major highway out there.  lol!  2,025)  Repurposing an old book that was going to be tossed in the trash (not by me).  I’m turning it into an art journal.

The ease of letting go.