Moonshine

A brilliant full moon demands my full attention through sporadic, wispy clouds, and despite bud-bursting branches of a grand old maple, sharply contrasting a gently darkening velvet sky.


So I sit for a chilly moment at the table set with shells, sea sanded stones, and my own thoughts wandering though history, wondering how many before me, loving this old bay side porch with her huge pillars and high ceiling, have set here, gazing at his warmth, on just such a cold spring night, mesmerized in the same way, by his dazzling fullness.

How long has he called for special treatment,

For time and talent to write him an ode, or a ballad, or a joke?

How many children of this town's past have sung a cow jumping over?

How many a youth, to his rippling reflection on the river?

How many men have sailed out to sea from this tiny port,

Only to bask longingly upward into his brilliance . . .

Hoping against hope that their land-locked loved ones, long left behind,

Have noticed . . .

And are now soaking up

All the love reflected in his light?

How could anyone help but sing in the shadow of his brightness? How he does call us all, to rise to his occasion! Can it be that we are one with evening's full tide reaching up into spring rain's river . . . surging with intoxicating urgency further still, into our very own moonshine mirror?

This porch, this house, this town,

This tidal river, this bay, and the sea herself,

All hold this memory to be true . . .tying:

Your reflection to mine,

Land to sea,

Past to present,

High to low,

Dark to light,

Lost to found,

And all of us bound,

Together,

In his everlasting light.

Here's to you,

You Mighty Spring Moonshine!

And to you,

Dear Mae!