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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.

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