Rising, waning crescent

She’s white and quiet this morning,
a glance through branches of bare trees
simply a neighbor in the forest, gathering her night herbs and nodding to me as our paths cross and our days begin.

Another woman sits up quietly,
pulls her cloak about her and rises.
“I have the watch,” she says, and listens while her brother makes his ablutions.

That will be this morning’s story.

The Moon and the Morning Star

Were singing to each other!

Singing!

Do you understand?
They were singing and I heard them and the Three Queens heard them
(even though it is not summer)
and the tail of the Bear pointed to Arcturus, of course, but the arc carried through directly to the moon like a spotlight, like a silver carpet.

It was cold enough to be very clear, yet not so very cold.
I could stop and stay as long as I liked and gaze and gaze on the dancers and breathe deeply the sweetness of early spring air
and I could taste the moonlight a little.

Where is the line

between working too hard out of duty,
obligation,
unhealthy deadlines and self-expectation

and

running in to work because I am lonely
and in the shelter of this clearly defined space
I know that I have value
I know that I have colleagues who are kind and brilliant and passionate about their own niches within our niche.

I joked with my friend about “you know
my immature black-and-white thinking streak a mile wide” and he
laughed and nodded because he did know it well.

Well, I have such a streak
so I like bright lines.
I really am not fit to be let out into the real world.
Perhaps that’s the next lesson.