Morning Moon

I woke early to the sound of the garbage truck rumbling down the street. Shoot! I forgot to put the trash can out. I jumped out of bed, threw on my clothes, shoved my feet into boots, and ran out of the house. Headlights illuminated the dark street as I wheeled the can out. But when I got to the street there was no car. The light came from this morning moon:

Wow!

Lightning Flashes and Thunderclaps

COASTAL WINTER

Rain soaked cloak
summer’s fallen joy –
browning in frost, fog,
and rain,
turning to humus in
promises of renewal.
A grant of shelter for
creeping things –
warmed by mother’s deep
fire within –
a sustaining sustenance
for life, recreation of hope –
we hunker down –
nesting – for a spring we
hope will arrive. So a
surety we never ask
‘But will it come?’

— Willie Oliver Wolfe