The Moon's Distant Call

It's yet another rainy fall day and I'm beginning to wonder what happened to the dry Arkansas weather I remember from childhood. Still, there are moments that aren't to be missed if you are paying attention. Right now, I wait for a break in the rain and take long walks along the dirt (mud) road that runs by our house and check out the autumnal changes. Although it's hard to see through the mist and rain, the leaves appear to be coloring earlier this year. We are headed towards Western North Carolina, the Blue Ridge and Smokey Mountains soon, hoping to see the best of fall in several states: Ar, TN, and NC.

In the meantime, I find plenty of beauty to celebrate right here at home. I wanted to post a little poem I managed to fit in between the screenplay, the novel, the cookbook and a couple of readings. I wanted to briefly remind my writers and readers that all you really have to do is pay attention, be present with your surroundings, and the beauty will appear. Then, if you want to share it, don't forget to write it, paint it, sculpt it, play it into a song. Sharing beauty is like spreading the wealth--it increases every time you pass it on. Someone will be inspired.

To bring the point home, I will tell you a brief story: The other day Leigh discovered an obituary on the web that was written for a wonderful man from Oklahoma. It seems the family had used one of our hospice publications during his illness. In that publication is a poem I wrote called "Leaving." And in this obituary of a man I did not know, was a quote from my poem. It brought tears of gratitude to my eyes to know that some folks I've never met were touched by this poem, enough to include it in a final statement about their beloved father, grandfather, husband. You never know whose lives you will touch when you put your work out there, so do it. In this world, at this time, we need all the inspiration and beauty we can get.

The Moon's Distant Call

Last night, luxuriating
in the steaming waters of our tiny hot tub,
watching the day go down to dusk,
I saw what I thought was a hummingbird
perched in the river birch beside the steps.
She sat so still, I grew confused:
bird...leaf...bird...leaf...bird?
She appeared to be watching the waxing moon;
slender as my little finger, green as a twig,
a furled leaf not yet flown.
I could swear she was watching the harvest moon
ballooning huge above the Ozarks.
Her tiny shoulders slightly slumped,
as if considering the long flight
from Fayetteville to Mexico on 1" wings.
But mostly she seemed, like me, lost
in the beauty of a 3/4 moonrise on a cooling breeze.
Motionless, she remained among the branches
until I gave her up for leaf at last
and looked away.
When I happened to glance back,
she was gone. Not a leaf then!
Not a leaf! But a moon-lover like myself,
there now, sipping her last
from the feeder before bed,
as I must have my chocolate chips
to sleep through the night–
with a large moon beckoning,
keeping watch
for wherever we might land tomorrow.

Mendy Knott Oct. 2009