stitches, musing, and the day moon (I know, does not exactly roll off the tongue)…

stitches, musing, and the day moon (I know, does not exactly roll off the tongue)…

sky clouds blue half moon
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

days like today are a welcome respite, the thermometer taking a break from the grasp of winter (albeit a mild one so far, I must admit), the temperature reaching up spring heights, the sun blazing down more like June, the sky that lovely shade of  absolute pure blue, ah yes, today should be different, will it ? I doubt it… Monday… glorious Monday… we dance… our dance…
I take my lunch break at the apportioned time, and begin to muse, or doze off, or both… head fades back into the pillow, or head rest, which is not as poetic…
so I bend to inner thought, are stitches just stitches or paths for where the fabric should go, all the arrows, the lines, the signs, all around us guiding the chaos, in this, this petri dish of our existence, from the smallest germ, up through the grass, into the trees, to humans walking these streets, to the birds that rule the air, sharing space with massive water vapor arrangements, up to the brink, the clink of glass, the sky ceiling, space and the companion nothingness, suffocation beyond the gate, now onward, up there, the lack of anything, the possibility of everything, a juxta-pose, all out there that lies beyond, and days like this, the breed of hope, the seed of new thought, just overlooking, you, day-moon, so out of reach, a silent observer, a constant distant friend, a constant reminder, for night is your usual domain, or so we perceive that haunt to be, but to you, locked in circles, lock stepped in orbit in orbits, a procession dance, at a glance, caress the tides as you have watched as very continents divide, the rise and fall, from molecules to dinosaurs, and to these eyes, upon close examination, your face, shaped by the memories of universal sojourners across the wake and landed, impacted, and even we, this tiny race have spent time on your domicile, our, you, our closest neighbor just that far beyond our life cocoon cradle, left dead staring as a reminder, or to inspire, as your one face faces us un-tired, stranger in the blue, day-moon, I feel as if I can hold you in my hand, up to my ear, and listen carefully to unveil your memory, and know of all things that happened here, watching life spin, just, out of reach…

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