Of Brigands
Tonight is one of those clear, cold nights, and as I looked up at the sky, standing in the silver light so bright I could read by it, I heard in my head "Then look for me by moonlight,/Watch for me by moonlight,/I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
I went inside to let the pugs out. Their kennels are in what was the bedroom. At the top of the loft is a big, multipaned window that is just the right height to let the moonlight stream through and fill the room, sometimes so bright it made it hard to sleep. He said he'd watch sometimes, while I slept, bathed in moonlight.
Nineteen years ago tonight I was carefully stitching lace to white silk, pleased there was a week to go before it was to be worn: for a change, I was going to be done before the last minute.
Tonight is full of memory. The wheel turns, as the wheel wills.
I went inside to let the pugs out. Their kennels are in what was the bedroom. At the top of the loft is a big, multipaned window that is just the right height to let the moonlight stream through and fill the room, sometimes so bright it made it hard to sleep. He said he'd watch sometimes, while I slept, bathed in moonlight.
Nineteen years ago tonight I was carefully stitching lace to white silk, pleased there was a week to go before it was to be worn: for a change, I was going to be done before the last minute.
Tonight is full of memory. The wheel turns, as the wheel wills.