Looking down into the sky...

Looking down into the sky,

What is there to see?

Whisp'ring waves reflecting on

The sunset's reverie.

An amber line of languid clouds

Wrapped in dressing gown;

A flitting flock of feathered friends

Flying – upside down.

Looking down into the sky

What is there to see?
Two startled eyes, some flailing limbs,

And a bobbing Tiffany.

Journey Through the Cosmos

A reply to Journey Through the Heavens. 

Night enfolds a drowsy world

In softest solitude,

Darkness opens on itself,

Infinite heavens revealed.

A thousand silent, twinkling lights

Beckoning through space,

Reach – stretch – grasp a hold

And swing into their midst.

From constellations, loner stars,

To far-flung galaxies,

Wander through the cosmic realm

Adrift yet never lost.

Here a different language speaks:

A language of the soul.

Ancient wisdom reverberates

The music of the spheres.

Entertained by jolly jokes,

Amusing, witty tales,

Revel in the centuries

Of camaraderie.

Catch a comet back to Earth

Whispering, “Adieu.”

Brush the silvery star dust

That lingers in the mind.


written 25 September 2012 

Moonnight

Dearest Wanderers, thank you for wandering far and wide - far enough and wide enough to wander back.

I have caught a poetry bug - or it has captured me. This one is from a couple moons ago.

*****

Moonnight

The moon is drifting, drifting,

O’er the world below,

The mist is lifting, lifting,

Born of glittering snow.

The dancing sprites of Northern Lights

Are bending, bowing low,

While mist is lifting, the moon is drifting

‘Cross the glittering snow.

The moon is drifting, drifting,

Through the ocean sky.

The stars are sifting, sifting,

Pearls floating by.

The hoary trees, my whispering skis

Like silver echoes fly,

While stars are sifting, the moon is drifting

Midst the pearly sky.

The moon is drifting, drifting,

Free from ancient care

The clouds are shifting, shifting,

Shadows in the air.

Elusive hue of midnight blue,

Enchanting unaware,

While clouds are shifting, the moon is drifting

Through the shadowy air.

Introvert's Hour

There should be a law! A law against driving fast during introvert's hour. Punishable with death. Well, maybe not that last part.

Some people refer to it simply as evening. Others call it twilight, or dusk, or even "the dim." One song I know calls it sunset hour. But I've named it Introvert's Hour.

Some days, quite a few actually, just whistle past. A flash, a gust of wind, and then bye bye.  And I get tired of trying to keep up. (No I'm not a senior - yet ;) I wish people and things and places would slow down to a half reasonable pace for once. But other people thrive on seemingly break-necked-ness, so I suspect I'm out of luck. 

In the midst of this hypersonic hubble double bubble appears introvert's hour. The rushing and jostling slows. The pounding and screeching softens. The spinning stops. My highlight is the day's lowlight.

Each one is a masterpiece. Each one is original. Miss one and you've missed it forever. Colourful is an understatement. Bold streaks; tiny blushes; intricate details. No harsh, glaring colours of midday, but soft colours, pastel colours, and married colours. They dance on the clouds, float through the very air you breath, rest in the shadows, and radiate out, out, out - 'til they die the east. Mind you, this is only the backdrop.

Enter the sanctuary of splendor. Silent, except for the earth's ethereal lullaby. Still, except for a slow slide to the east. Here you are free. Free from the interruptions of companions. Free to be alone. To be    s   l   o   w   . To be quiet. To ponder deeply. To recount sadness. To clutch goodness for fear it won't return. To revel in cool winds and warm clothes. To listen to the beating of your heart. To weave dreams into reality. To whisper with Him who loves you. To marvel at mercy. To drowse. To savour the extravagance of life. To delight in small pleasures. To do things, just for old times sake. To cackle over particularly corny jokes. To do sweet nothing - simply because you can. And, of course to drive slowly.

And then it's gone. A vehicle whizzes by, far too rapidly. Natural light fades. Fake light flares. The world throttles up.

Introvert's Hour - cause it's typical introversion; typical introverted recharging. For the through-and-through's, for the half-and-half's, for the mostly-extroverted-with-a-wee-corner-of-introversion. Give it your own name. Call it what you will. But if it happens while I'm driving, just smile as I putter past.

Sky Scrawl

I am sorry that they missed it so completely.

They were inside where the biggest star was the one who could say the funniest things. I happened to be outside where the biggest star was the One who "tells the number of the stars, and calls them all by their names." (Psalm 147:4)

Don't take me wrong. I think relationships are one of the most important, lasting, fulfilling things in life. But like all introverts, I sometimes tire of an incessant cacophony of jokes. Okay, okay, I admit I was slightly miffed. 

It had been overcast all night. I knew what was up there if only the clouds would roll away. I knew it was new moon. I knew the world's greatest light show was happening - only the curtain was still concealing it. So I waited patiently. Well, I thought I knew what was happening. I returned outside. The curtain of cloud had rolled away. 

Awe.

The sky was on its nightly rotation. Millions upon millions of stars. Jupiter, Pleiades, Orion, Sirius, and Cassiopeia arrayed as only they can be. Their friendships seemed deep and ancient, reaching back to "when the morning stars sang together." (Job 38:7)

The ageless beauty always surprises me, but something else was waiting. It was a message. The size of the letters weren't measured by pixels, but by light years. The power of the message wasn't measured by decibels, but amplified by silence. What I saw was a signature - God's signature. 

The magnificent creation was honouring the Creator. The heavens shouted with joy, "Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable!" (Psalm 145:3) "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing." (Revelation 5:12)

The glimmering stars scrawled God's everlasting promises across the darkness. God can't help but remind us of His love, "for God is love." (1 John 4:8) Through the silence of His signature, His Word thundered: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love." (Jeremiah 31:3) "Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49:15,16) "But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine." (Isaiah 43:1)

Truly "the heavens declare the glory of God." (Psalm 19:1)



I recently received a book called Indescribable. Its title, ah... describes it rather well. It is packed full of amazing, colourful images of God's universe. If you think science-fiction is crazy, then take a look at reality. This book delves deeply into fascinating details - but not so deeply as to lose you in the vastness of outer-space. Coincidentally, one of the authors related an experience similar to mine, which always intrigues me greatly.

And now I will share two excerpts that impressed me especially.

It would take a jet plane flying from the Sun's surface at 800 km/h well over a month... to reach this star's centre. - Thomas Dubay

Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course... We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television. - Paul Hawken

Working in the Light

I did something new yesterday. I wandered around telling people about the One who "came to touch the hardness of our hearts." I didn't approach it without apprehension, but as I'm finding more and more, the little fears never materialized. As the bundle in my hand shrank, the bundle in my head expanded. Have I ever said that my mind is bursting with thoughts? Nah, I didn't think so.

It could hardly have been a more beautiful day. I used to think nothing was prettier than a sunny summer day. That was before I tasted the vibrancy of dusty clear day of Indian summer. And when you mix in some twilight too... Which is why I went walking with a friend a couple evenings ago. The sights and sounds we discovered! A pumpkin cat sitting silently on a fence. Geese honking, wings whirring, floating blackly on a pale sky. Trees blushing at their reflection on still water. Lights glowing and beckoning through the dim. However, I have a question. Why do beautiful things hurt?

If Indian summer was a beverage, what colour would it be? Perhaps light blue with wisps of white and swirled with orange. Or maybe layered yellow, orange, and red. The only problem being if the colours mixed completely, you'd end up with a lovely brown hue. Appetizing! Or what would it taste like? Dying leaves? Dirt? Apple cider? Apple cider! I think it would be sweet and tangy and bitter. But no matter what, a shot of twilight would top it off perfectly. I wish I could fill of bottle with this delight and savour it year-round. Except I'm afraid the secret to its sweetness is its scarcity.

Changing

Every day is a miracle. Today it was the drive to work. If I would have imagined hard enough, I could have pulled back gently on the wheel and floated up to tumble though the clouds. Mystical, magical, majestic clouds. Into a world of mixed contrasts: light and dark, sanguine and melancholy, stormy and calm. Willow-y wisps caressed towering grandeur. But today I was earth-bound. So I explored the clouds' footprints and watched them play cloud-games and do the hula laugh. Through the aged sunlit fields, under the arching burnished trees. The light and shadows drifted here and there, ever changing as they went. Dynamic-ism!

All the foliage was tired. But, strikingly, it didn't care. Rather it reveled in its ancientness; enjoyed it, even.  How? People always seem to dread getting old. They loose their beauty; but perhaps they're blind to the new beauty ancientness has given them.

Mango Twilight

It happened a couple months ago and I don't know why I waited, but the time is... now.

Ironically, it was because the electric storm thwarted our electricity that I found myself relaxing: witnessing the most amazing light show I have ever seen.

The sun was heading for brighter lands. The thunder still sounded in the distance, the rain was still softly falling, and the last of the dilated orange sun dangled a rainbow in the evening sky. The clouds overhead soon stopped their weeping and the sun slipped out of sight. Something lingered. Elusive light mingled around. I thought it was bright - until I tried to see. I thought it was dark - until I soaked up the glow. Everything was drenched in orange light. Long ago should the land and sky have been dark, but they refused to be. On and on it lasted. And on and on I watched. The trees, the sky, the clouds, the grass, the fresh rain; all were saturated in light. But the source was gone. It was half-light. No shadows, no glare, no distinct light or dark; nothing describes it better than glow.

The earth slowly diffused its light and the program ended. I think the answer lies in the clouds, quite literally. The clouds that initially covered the sun were the same clouds that reflected the sun's rays long after I could see them. In the simplest sense, they were a mirror. 

I always knew I liked indirect lighting.