Once in a blue moon, halogen cool light colors the sky. An owl soars through the treetops, glancing at bright and shadowed dappled paths; he hunts for furtive, scampering gray mice to snatch up in his powerful talon grasp. Tree frogs croak two bass notes and crickets chirp two high; cacophony fills the night air until they hear the red fox's shrill cry. The chickens roost nervously clucking and gather together in wait of attack. A shooting star arcs clear across the sky and wishes for peace are said.
The fountain gurgles in the garden, moonlight transforms water to diamonds and pearls. The spider casts his silken thread, weaving a garment the juniper can wear. Unexpectedly, a yellow light appears and swiftly moves along the wooden fence; pale lemon stripes are cast upon the ground, as particles of light escape between the slats. The car moves on and darkness resumes, the owl settles on a tall branch. He gazes at the wondrous luna blue; blinking, then blinking again, he turns his head and calls, “Who-o-o!”
The night is almost ended, spun cotton candy pinkens the clouds, and sunbeams warm the frosty blue moon, as it disappears from the sky.
I joined Writers Bloc, a group of writers from Monmouth County, NJ, whose styles are as diverse as their backgrounds and interests. Here are some of my writings from our meetings.