Sometimes it’s the little things. Often, actually. Like this slender sliver of a crescent moon tipped sideways, a celestial smile. Like this volute capital — atop one of two ionic columns flanking Rosslyn’s front entrance — glowing warmly from the pendant light hanging above the stone landing. Like that improbable glow silhouetting the trees despite darkening sky above and shadowy shoreline below…
And when several of these little things happen concurrently, it’s as if the world, the universe, life itself begin to rhyme. As if we can hear that subtle singing underneath. As if, listening deeply, allowing ourselves to become receptive, we can join the song. Perhaps humming along at first. Maybe even begin to sing.
Crescent Moon Haiku
At dusk, crescent moon and mustachioed column grin, share a chuckle.
Haiku Deconstructed
Doesn’t the ionic volute resemble a swirled mustache? This snapshot was taken looking east from the parlor. The accident of fading natural light and moon and pendant illumination? Found poetry!
Sue Reaser says
I think that my moon insomnia grows out of the fact that I only want to gaze at the moon…
endlessly. The full moon usually baths our bed room in moon light to read by! And I just want to be cogently immersed in that glow. The moon is my muse.
Geo Davis says
No THAT is an explanation that I can understand. Moon gazing! I have a similar experience with shooting stars. Each time I think I’d better go off to bed, another shooting star reminds me that going to bed will be missing others. And so I stay awake, and watch, and watch, and watch,…