Transitions

Ripe stalks rise up for the late October scythe. 

Widow spiders spin and weave their silky bed of coffin lilies.

Entire restless oceans move with a full moon tug. 

               

Those fresh raindrops keep swimming down the pane,

Disappearing in the window frame.

A moonlit cloud, shifting its shape for two star gazing lovers,

Slowly fades into black sky.

Proud, proud Mother cradles her forth (of ten),

While Cat seeks safer haven with her third of six.

Don’t they know about the blood moon waiting in the wings?

Wings!

How long is the journey anyway?   

A buzz and a lick and a quick goodbye?  

An eon or two in the Milky Way?

An August with a swallowtail butterfly?

Animal-Plant in the Conserrvancy Garden, Central Park