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Poem

There is one kind of beauty in a morning walk illuminated by the moon..and yet…there is a different kind of beauty walking after a rain…when all the streets are wet.

The streets take on a glow…one you never see at noon…the shadows seem to shimmer in light reflected from the moon.

There is a freshness in the air…a coolness in the breeze…as it carries with it raindrops it has shaken from the trees.

Still enough raindrops remain upon the trees…those unable to take flight…giving the trees a feeling of Christmas…as they sparkle in the night.

Age seems to fade away…as you breathe the misty air into your lungs…as you splash around in puddles…like you did when you were young.

If you listen to the crickets…the owls…the nightingales…you find it difficult to decide…if you are hearing more sounds than usual…or if they’re just amplified.

You stop a moment…look up…and give thanks…grateful you’ve been allowed…to watch the moon, the stars….the planets…playing hide and seek among the clouds.

And you pause as you’re walk is ending…trying to remember everything because you don’t want to forget…
the sights
the sounds
from your morning walk…
when all the streets are wet.

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