By John Dillon

My dear old friend just left

He stood up from the table—time to go

The party had been over for a while

The last bottle was gone

A few forgotten glasses were left

Some half empty—some half full

He said he was going to the clearing

The clearing—I knew what he meant

That still place of calm deep within the soul

Decade after decade after decade

He would go there and look for words

The good ones he found he would bring back

And then he would give them all away

Recently he said he had learned of another clearing

Another place he wanted to find—beyond words

I felt him walk through the door

But not a door where the solid click of a latch is heard

Today is October 13, 2019—and

Tonight there will be The Hunter’s Moon

It will slowly appear in the cold fading twilight

Of a still and cloudless eastern sky

I can almost see him in the clearing now

Standing vibrant and strong like

The fearless explorer he once was

Beautiful words are all around him—everywhere

But his eyes are trained on the darkness

He knows it’s close

He’s waiting

For that shimmering gold light

To shine down on sacred stones

That will point the way—to the next clearing

Beyond words

I set down the final glass and walk outside

The sharp chill in the air is suddenly gone

In the distance trees are slow dancing

To the muted sounds of a soft autumn breeze—and

Just now on the horizon there is a pale yellow glow

The Hunter’s Moon

Is rising

__________

John Dillon

For Steve Cash