Once, in a blue moon

I see a full moon lighting up the road ahead, the sound of B.B. King’s blues are knocking in my head.

Behind me, morning peeks and skies tint gold, as I drive toward the night – it’s bright and bold.

Yesterday, I cleaned the leaves from my front yard, blowing up a cloud of amber shards.

Leaves of yellow, gold and brown and red, coated under foot and seeming dead.

Clearing out the old then seeing green, the grass looked more healthy than it’s ever been.

Everyday – as B.B. sings his full lament- I have the blues – but sadness isn’t what he meant.

There is beauty in this world of loss. What we carry through we layer or emboss

on the surface of our daily works of art. We make from aches and pain a stronger beating heart.

I’m still driving west to chase the moon, but daylight will arrive and overtake me soon.

And as the song from B.B. King is done, the opening picking strain of Here Comes the Sun.

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