Moon-Tide Soliloquy
Let the tide rise. Let the moon burn. Still, we bloom.
It’s a full moon tonight—
high, tipped slightly south,
pouring cyan across the fields
like breath on a mirror.
The whole world glows.
I want to camp out.
To sleep in the tall grass,
barefoot under the stars.
To dance with fireflies,
to spin in the firelight,
to sing songs we haven’t written yet.
How can a night like this end?
It is summer—
perfected.
The kind that begs you
to drag each moment into eternity,
just in case the next one doesn’t quite measure up.
My soul is troubled—
but in the best possible way.
I think of the year behind me.
The tidal wave of change,
of beauty and wreckage alike.
And still the moon keeps rising.
Still, the tides go on.
They did not slow for me,
and they never will.
So I sit beneath this ancient sky,
chasing the moon toward dawn—
and I pray.
That tomorrow only brings what I allow.
That I allow only the kind of wonder
a night like this reminds me
is still possible.
The stars turn overhead.
The cyan has deepened to indigo.
And just now,
crimson seeps into
the eastern edge of the world.
The weight of sleep is coming.
But before I go—
My twilight muse blooms.
A lavender vine the last thing
that crosses my mind
before I drift
into the blue.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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