Compositions for an October sky. The skies tonight bring the Hunter’s Moon. I hold these tiny relics in my hand and wonder: who made this, who will hold them next? This fall evening of crickets and crisp night air, they chronicle a lost history and await an unknown future. The work of human hands is weighty on such a night.
The ephemeral masterpieces outside take on a weathered beauty. Quite the opposite kind of problem, this captured moment slips away. In it’s place an impression: a wish for other years, other gardens.
Next year, zinnias, definitely. And perhaps the continuation of a story started under a Hunter‘s Moon an age ago.