Bathed in silver moon-shine,
I see the moon and the moon sees me.
(And I’m not even under an apple tree)
Cold silver covers everything,
like the inside of a pop-tart wrapper.
But the air is warm and soft.
The scent of lilac almost overwhelms.
A contradiction of senses.
I try to focus on the night.
Let it swallow me.
To be consumed by a different blackness
would be a pleasant change.
Standing between a lilac bush
and a blossoming cherry tree,
smiling at the pure beauty of the moment.
The sound of silence does not bother me now.
The scene lends itself to peace and calm.
It occurs to me, only now,
that passersby would certainly think me odd.
Standing here for some twenty minutes
touching flowers and smelling each blossom.
They don’t know what I know.
That this moment was made for only me, and me alone.
Moments like this are that which keep me here
when many other things fail.
they don’t know that no matter what changes,
I’ll always be able to find moments of perfection
in the middle of a field on moonlit nights.
And if there is no field, no moon, and no night,
I’ll find my perfection elsewhere.
All I have to do is look.