Escaping the cloistered confines of an
I step outside and am surprised.
The day had been painted in warmth and wind,
Cleansing storms lowering the curtain.
The night though is strange.
The starkness of it is startling.
A breathe of cold,
a whisper of rain,
a brush of blossoms,
a touch of spring.
The sky clings to the treetops
As a soft fleece that has never known light yet still speckled
pin-sized light bulbs.
The air, teasing of winter, but
Promising spring, draped in the fragrance of blossoms
And washed fresh by the rain,
Pats my cheeks gently like a mother
And rubs my arms as if to keep them warm.
I turn and look through a pale haze
Of moonlight petting white tree blossoms
To illuminate the darkness of the branches.
It is in this night that I know
The inexplicable is to be grasped, just this once, and this night,
everything has a name.
The play I wrote opens tomorrow!!!
And that is why I've been missing as of late and will continue to be so. On that note: