Inspired to the full moon shining over my deck and the stylings of Moondog Dozier.

Luna Noël

and, bathed in the light of the moon,
I thought it had snowed.

it was a Christmas miracle,
I was so sure,
but when the lights flickered on,
the only thing that covered the ground
was the remnants of fall,
still golden-red and trying to impress.
Christmas was still a month away
and it was still in the upper 40s.

funny how it was beautiful,
the picnic tables broken and nervous
and still trying to be useful,
when there was snow,
but just the sad remains of summers gone
when there was naught but empty air.

and even though I knew the truth,
when I turned the lights off again,
I couldn't help but smile, small and sad,
at how hard the moon was trying anyway,
wishing for a white Christmas
too much, too soon.

and, bathed in the light of the moon,
I believed it was possible,
that Christmas merely depended on the illusion of snowfall
and that it was only a few steps
to a particular brand of seasonal delight.

weightless, I barely touched the snowy surface
as I rose to find December among the clouds and stars.

below, the picnic tables broken and nervous;
weightless, I rose to find December.