Winter Solstice

As the longest evening settles in, the grandmother tree unfurls a canopy of leaves like a freshly washed sheet.  A smidgeon of moon becomes a modest beacon for the first bird to arrive in this new year.  Most likely a crow with a message.  Listen.  Please.  

Smitten

I am smitten by glass.  This sphere by Josh Simpson.  I feel the tug of moon on the seas.  On me.  No less that when writing about the moon.  No less, when cooking & her celestial sliver graces the kitchen window.