I meant to write about the moon, in summer. But rain, a tiresome stop-start and repetitive lock-down, saw me pluck an Asian bleeding-heart. With deaths, near-deaths and diagnoses so close to home, hands had clamped and ink dried up.
But October is always rich and full. Harvest moon saunters in on the first day, and emerges blue on the last as it hallows the ground and ushers a new month. As shadows scream swallowed by darkness so typical of November, I cling to Astraea’s embrace and departing words, “Stay in the light!”, for they say this winter will be hard.
– for Poets and Storytellers United, Writers’ Pantry