Less than two inches of rain appears to have raised the level of Mission Lake about one foot. The thick green coating of algae remains undisturbed. The dead tree upon which birds roosted during summer is now mostly submerged. Further on, a great blue heron rests on what remains visible of another snag, soaking up the very bright early morning sun. The path, too, has been transformed; the dust is gone, and the loose bits have all been tacked down. The birds are out in abundance. Black walnuts litter the ground. High in a cottonwood, a starling is so delighted it uses its spring voice.
While the full moon was rising over the Cascades yesterday evening, it looked almost impossibly big, like the yolk of a giant prehistoric egg. If someone were to see such a thing while breathing fresh clean air and say, It’s only the moon, it would be a tragic confession.
September 21, 2021. Afternoon.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces