Jet-black branches
frame a  round, cream moon,
soon to set.

Earlier
when I first shuffled into the kitchen–
    to feed the cats,
    to start the coffee–
the moon rode above the trees,
a perfect circle of frozen white.

It shifts color
as it nears its shift's end,
done guarding this still, winter's night,
ready to clock out,
warm up with a cup of celestial tea,
roll into bed.

This is why the moon's color changes,
softens,
relaxes into sepia,
into memory,
into released vigilance.

We,
embedded in a frigid, mid-February night,
have once again
been shepherded through.

So it retreats,
hands us off to day.

The sun's first, pale tint
touches the sky
180 degrees from the moon's sinking–
big sister on her way.
And she will carry on,
confident, cordial,
bright enough for a wakened world. 

Text and image © 2013 by Dirk deVries. All
rights reserved.