It’s a wondrous night.
The moon is full and framed
by branches pregnant with fat buds.
A perfect balance of stars and clouds
orange and mauve in the moonrise.
There’s a warm gusty wind
rustling and bending the pines
and it’s so bright
almost as bright as day
without all the colors.
I get the sense
that everything around me is awake.
It’s like a swell of movement
surging from the darkness between the trees.
No one out there will sleep tonight.
I hear yowling and growling
coming from the hedgerow.
Songbirds are chirping and trilling
and hopping from branch to branch.
Woodcock are performing
noisy mating rituals in the field.
The spring air carries a mysterious sweetness
intriguing, almost irresistible.
The primal part of me inhales deeply
wishing to follow that damp sweetness
wherever it leads.
To slip into the woods and go wild.
Rage and run
shake off the long cold winter
in a fevered and frenzied prowl.
Come home at dawn
leaves and twigs in my hair
panting and muddy
The shadows in a cloud
passing above the moon
form in perfect puffy letters
I imagine it’s a message from the heavens
and try to figure out
which question in my life
it might be the answer to.
The wind breaks the cloud
into squarish bits
like cracked mud at the bottom of a dried stream.
Every time I’m about to turn and go home
I hear a new sound in the woods
and the breeze rises
and the pines rustle and bend again
and the clouds streak and puff
and new stars twinkle into view.
I won’t rush it.
This is a night to be savored.