Full moon last night, shining like a pale sun through the window, pushing the dark back, barely visible through the trees but its light gilding everything, making much of its mirror of stones. This morning crows calling over and over in the dark the moon left behind. Soon the jays join their cousins in the call to the day, and for awhile, between the moon and the sun, the sky is filled with sound, with silhouettes of dark with open throats and voice urgent and clamoring. There are mornings of sweet song and pearly dawn light and then there are mornings like this . . .
Moonlight and Crows
The full moon sets
taking its shining
to someone else's night
and crows wake
calling the sun
up from the dark
their loud voices
repeating their longing
The light rises
chalking the sky
gray then bluer
blank as paper
crows the ink
their harsh words
welcome the day
that never fails
to rise to their need.
S. Crowson
It rises to our need as well, the eternal constant, reliable as the word and the work. We say "Sure as the sun rises" because we cannot say that about the moon. Streaked with red this morning, fading quickly to massive gray, the sky changes constantly and the wind rises. With the crows, I am welcoming the day, calling it up, glad the long night is disappearing into light.
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