And so, here it is — the month of the blue moon. And we expect that perhaps we will be in the presence of a miracle.
Two moons in one month are rare, so we may expect magic. When I wrote the attached poem, I was in a place of magic — a moment that I wanted to re-live again and again.
Since then, I have discovered that I do re-live and carry on the moment whenever I re-read the poem, whenever I see the sparkle in my daughter’s eyes, when I bring every “Aha,’ every resonance, every discovery of love into the very present that I have been given.
OLD MOON
We were called out at midnight,my daughter and I,by the shining full beneficence,walked down a familiar path
into a land that had been hidden before.
A place bathed forever in the light of love.
We played tag in a meadow of moonbeams,climbed the shadow branches
of an ancient tree.
My daughter raced ahead,dancing on the curved stone wall
of the veranda above the lake,singing all the moon songs she could remember.
She danced and danced,a familiar silhouette against the silent shine.
I stuffed my hands deep in my pockets
and shivered.
She said, “I just don’t want to ever leave it.”
“I know,” I said,wishing that I could work a deal
with that big old moon.
I would manage the moonbeams forever
if we could live a moment now and again
until we were just ready
to let it go.
Ruthanne “Rufus” Collinson is poet laureate for the city of Gloucester.
