Tarmac ribbons criss-crossing the landscape, dusty back roads twisting between the cool shadows of ancient pines, and less traveled pathways connecting present to past, all I wander, seeking, seeing, with my keyboard and camera capturing scenes and stories to share with you.

Now in its seventh year, this venue has become an important part of my life, a place where I can express my thoughts and feelings about the things I see and do, hoping the process brings me a bit closer to friends and family who enjoy sharing my sometimes chaotic and often nonlinear observations and ideas. A journal, I suppose, but one with which I find pleasure in thinking others are alongside me on my journey.

Comments, thoughts, or just a friendly chat, use the response box below or email me at patrickgroleau@gmail.com.

May 6, 2012

SUPERMOON


... luna rising waxing gibbous approximately four hours before being both full and at perigee, its closest approach to earth, the word "supermoon" is actually an astrological term ... humans have explored its dusty plains and valleys, measured its size and density, even brought back to earth for study tiny samples of its surface ... to singers and songwriters it remains a symbol of love, both found, enduring, and lost, poets forever attempt to describe its cold warmth ... somewhere, i'm sure, even in this time there remain a few who in the darkness of night sneak away to secret grottos in the deep woods, paint themselves blue, and dance to ancient rhythms whispered down to them by their pale goddess ...

... i wonder, however, do young children still marvel at the "man in the moon" ... on warm summer nights do they go out to play with it, together to be chased by and chasing fireflies and moonbeams and their own laughter ... in its private illumination do snuggling teenager couples still walk clumsily along tree-lined streets, repeatedly circling blocks of darkened houses until the beginning and end of their stroll merges into the night and they become part of a journey ... long returned from the front, by the light of the moon do old soldiers still see the frightened faces of never-to-be-forgotten comrades ... in the middle of the night, is there somewhere a mother tiredly nursing her baby suddenly to discover that the warm glow of the moon and the delicate luminescence of her child's skin seem both born of the same ethereal light ...

... i wonder, does anyone still go out into the night, stare up at the moon, and dream and dream and dream and dream until the dawn brings end to it all, but that's okay because the moon has once again simply tucked itself away neatly into the promise of the day ...


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