Out the front door for silence on a lawn,
the moon in all its ghostly qualities;
ethereal clouds, pale pulsing shroud,
infinite Blues dissolving to grays
fingers of trees reach and sway.
An indifferent light
offers only a moment
only a moment of silence
And it’s gone.
The houses are all asleep.
The northern wind holds its breath
And I’m in that place again.
It’s hard to find time to be quiet. To stop long enough to listen, even when we have a lot of time on our hands, we tend to fill it with something to distract us. It has been a while since I stopped and sat down on the ground to shoot the night sky, the last time was Arkansas for fall foliage and evening long exposures.
Tonight I sat outside on the ground and watched this wonderful display of clouds. Earlier the moon was huge as it rose into the sky, a yellowish orange hue, but now it was cold and pale. The sky was filled with ghostly clouds that wrapped around the moon like an ethereal halo.
I wrote this poem about the experience, there actually was the start of another paragraph but I simplified it. The most important thing I learned and what I have missed for quite some time, to sit and watch. To listen in the silence of a pale December sky.