Why Worry
Let the tide rise. Let the moon burn. Still, we bloom.
It’s a full moon tonight— high, tipped slightly south, pouring cyan across the fields like breath on a mirror. The whole world glows.
I want to sleep out.
To camp in the tall grass, barefoot under the stars. To dance with fireflies, to spin in the firelight, to sing songs we haven’t written yet.
How can a night like this end?
It is summer—perfected. And it begs to drag each moment into eternity.
Just in case the next one doesn’t quite measure up.
This soul is troubled— thinking of the year behind: Subduction of change to the Orogeny of beauty and wreckage.
But the moon keeps rising. The tides go on. Stars burn and shine. They do not slow for me.
And they never will.
I sit beneath my ancient sky, chasing satellites to dawn— and I pray.
How small a creature I am in all of this scheme, created for me and yet— not at all.
Planets turn overhead. The cyan has deepened to indigo. And just now, crimson seeps into the eastern edge of the world.
Every moment a miracle.
The weight of sleep is coming.
But before I am claimed— the flash of dawn blooms wetness and blurry vision.
A lavender vine the last thing that crosses my mind before I drift into the blue of day.
2025-07-10 07:30:00
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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper