The sweet potatoes got an extra scrubbing today. I was standing at the sink, watching the clouds swirl across the moon, lost in the loveliness, as I scrubbed dirt off the sweet potatoes.
It seems I should be able to use this nugget in a poem. No poem comes to mind, so I'm collecting it here, as I often do.
The other day I remembered that I had an idea for a new Noah's wife poem, but I couldn't remember what it was, so I went to the blog. Happily, I had recorded it in this post. I had thought I would write about cicadas and husks and post-menopausal Noah's wife feeling like she, too, is a husk. This morning, I'm thinking about cicadas and Noah's wife wondering why they got a space in the ark if they're only going to emerge into life every 17 years.
This morning, the sunrise was a gift of beauty that kept giving. I left the house for my morning walk thinking I would walk west, towards the sinking moon. But the pre-sunrise colors were so soft and purply-pink that I headed east. I watched the colors shift from pale pink along the spectrum to salmon orange with whisps of purple.
Those whisps headed west and made the full moon look like something out of my sketchbook. Imagine the picture below without the dark circles:
and clouds obscure the sunrise.