"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Serendipity? coincidence? or ?

A few days after I wrote "Moon Memories" with a watercolor attempt to portray my thoughts, my fellow word traveler and poet K. Lawson Gilbert posted this photo "Snow Moon," on her blog, with her poetry.  Isn't art amazing?  For more of her work, click on "Old Mossy Moon," her blog listed among my favorites.



Both reprinted with her permission.

TRACKING LIFE


My eyes are getting milky
from staring at the moon –
the snow moon that hangs
on the ice encrusted limbs
of flesh, muscle, and bone.
I was a young girl, once,
staring at a snow moon
out my bedroom window.
Its soft glow got inside
of me that night and somehow
I was able to carry the light
for a time. And the snow?
It melted inside my veins
and ran like sap in a maple,
clear and sweet and slow.

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