Just as every passageway calls me into its depths, empty benches urge me to sit awhile: Contemplate the nature of the nocturnal sky. Often, when the blueness of night enfolds the village, I relent, my faithful dog at my side, and peruse the cosmos.
“Do you see it too, Copernicus?”
My canine companion lifts his head toward the moon.
“It’s a super moon.”
He sniffs the chill from the air, and I watch the stars reflect in his eyes.
I sense the bench listens, absorbing our conversation. We, all three of us, have spent time with full moons before, and let their rays penetrate the autumnal nip. …
“You’ll never find peace by looking for it outside of yourself, as it is a self-generated experience. So, the next time you want it go within rather than elsewhere.”
These autumn days are spent on twilight’s edge.
Today crossing the boundary of tomorrow.
Each leaf crumbles.
Before it passes,
it spins golden threads to catch the light,
and gives its last wish to the earth.
Like the caterpillar,
it transforms into new life.
It rises as a reed, flower, or berry,
or sings on the breeze as kind music heard by those in need of the season’s solace.