On poetic sight

Can you see the moon?

Sitting in the shade and looking up between the trees, I saw the moon yesterday morning.

And as the high cirrus clouds wafted across the sky, the moon was hidden from view.

Yet it was still there. All I had to do was wait for its emergence.

I can’t control the moon, but can pay attention to its movement. And delight in its beauty.

Like poetry.

We sense its presence and delight in its fluidity, but assuming it can be brought to order is like trying to hold water.

Better instead to enter its flow.

Pause. See differently. Re-story 🌿