#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Wild Apple Blossom

“The moon tonight smells like linen,
clean & pressed, spreading
its blue fabric over not just May’s fields

but the willow by the pond,
the hens in the one-window coop,
the Lab on the lawn,

poking her nose into the myrtle. . .”

Excerpt from “Full flower noon,” by Julie L. Moore

Maples are ruby with spring, reflected in the river, blued with sky. And the meadow is almost yellow in its sunlit, lime green new grass. On the edge of our property from the brambles a wild apple grows in blossom. I snap a few and bring their fresh fragrance inside. I visit my daughter’s new plants, her arugula sprouts showing. She toils and toils in the cool air, the warm sun. Inside, I go to a poetry workshop, bring one of the new poems, the Georgia O’Keeffe inspired one, and realize how far I have to go in figuring this one out. The moon keeps waking me, days are drowsy. Before I walk, early, Frank and I talk. Well, I listen. Then make amends for an insensitive comment last night. We smooth it over. Small skirmish. These weeks after his mother’s death, these few days before his first mother’s day without her, I understand it’s a tender time. In this family, we have lost a mother and are gaining a mother in a few short months. Tomorrow is my parents’ wedding anniversary and the lilac in my garden is coming into bloom. After dark, I walked across the field under stars to the river to see the full flower moon rising over the trees and reflecting on the Charles. A peaceful evening. Perhaps not restful. This moon is hugely awake and aware. It’s seeing all of it, shining on all of it, being there in it’s sky-born place, holding all of us in its sights, un-crashable.