Harvest Moon

Indigo October sky, mirrors the roaring sea

crescent moon hangs low, on the brim

teasingly swinging, at my mind

I hear the tinkle of the winds chimes as the

air ripples through the lemon tree and bougainvillea.

I feel peace; I feel loving arms around me.

my brain is more selective about

what it wants me to hear

similar to the pulp, filtering the juice and pit

salvaging the memories, vivid, poignant.

Pumpkins sprawled across the lawn

hints of dew, light fog hovers now

a new beginning awaits, as harvesting begins.

weeds will be stifled, lie dormant

serenity blanketing , the renewal of life.

Maryann Corrigan © Copyright 10.1.2011

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