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Poem

The meadow lay dark, dank, hushed, cold and clammy.
Nothing dared to move, 
to break the soliloquent solitude.
Time stood still, adjourned, awaiting a warp to lift the lag.
Then, the moon peeped out from the edge of a dark cloud.
Everything changed, the scene was awash with perception, 
beyond the touch of braille dots, enlightened.
Dew drops on grass blades sparkled,
with mini moon images, captured within.
An owl opened its eyes to scan the scene, enraptured.
A rabbit twitched its nose, sniffing for scents, wafting.
Now you could see the breeze caressing the grass, ebbing and waving.
See the dew drops dislodged from leaves fall, tumbling as tear-drops.
The moonlight painted the scene as it brightened, 
colors and textures infilling in waves.
Not a still life landscape, 
but with colors ever so slowing growing in intensity and contrast.
A beam of moonlight squirmed its way across the meadow, 
as if parting the grass with a furrow.
Then, as the full moon escaped from behind the cloud,
flooding light all over the entire meadow, 
the scene was fixed, its dynamism quelled, expelled, in past tense.
The sleeper awoke, looked out the window, 
admired the moonlight on meadows scene
oblivious to how the moon had gradually developed the scene,
like a fixative develops a print from a negative film.
The image darkening and transforming into view as if my magic.
The sleeper returned to sleep, oblivious to how the scene of the meadow 
developed with the first few seconds of moonlight caste upon it.
Never knowing what they missed as the moonlight first alit the meadow,
delightfully developing the scene before it was fixed, and paint dried.
My, My what the sleeper missed!

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