清秀

The night air is filled with the scent of apples, and the moon is nearly full.

In the next room, Jim is reading; a small cat sleeps in the crook of his arm.

The night singers are loud, proclaiming themselves every evening until they run

out of nights and die in the cold, or burrow down into the mud to dream away the winter.

My office is awash in books and photographs, and the sepia/pink sunset stains all its light touches.

I’ve never been a good traveler, but there are days, like this one, when I’d pay anything to be in

another country, or standing on the cold, grey moon, staring back at the disaster we call our world.

We crave change, but turn away from it. We drown in contradictions.

Tonight, I’ll sleep blanketed in moonlight. In my dreams, I’ll have

nothing to say about anything important. I’ll simply live my life, and let the night singers live theirs,

January 3 2020…A dreamy distant photo of Mt. Cook