Last night, while sitting fireside
we threw symbols into the coals
blown full of what we are letting go.
We watched them, moved them, let them burn away
wondering how long it would take these small logs to go to ash.
She appeared like an amber glow of the streetlight.
There, at the corner of the garage, in the tree branches.
Rising as we watched.
We just sat there and watched the log’s glow, the moon’s rise.
The whole world slowed down.
Together we talked of things, held hands, wondered if we’d see the international space station go by.
Slowed to the space of the backyard, where no usher would tell us it was closing time. A friend had already posted her picture of the super moon, so even that task was removed, filtering away through smoke and the coming of night.
Oh! the space that is created when we slow down! When we move at a moon’s pace, steadily across our own sky.