Reflections

I didn't see the moon for what came in the afternoon; the rain started early and soaked deep through the night across the mid-lands. I remember the month of the blue moon, and the pink one, and then the shined yellow one and how charming of all their surprises – and the rain.  How could we ever know what tomorrow will bring, or that yesterday really meant something without the reflection of time in this light; new people, new endeavors, new life.  A new sequence of equations.  Remember the days of the Pharaohs when mankind came out of the mist of unrecorded time and into the light of history...  I never see the moon through my bedroom window it seems.  I usually have to walk outside and locate it via corresponding data that is directly in the direction of a plane with adjacent strata, though only when the mood strikes, which sometimes it does at about three in the morn when pecan pancakes are being contemplated.  I will get up to go look outside to make sure that the man in the moon still stands, the same one that awed me as a child riding in that El Camino, and watching it to see how far it followed.  Men like this form the background against that which all history should be read, because it was against such a background that all history was lived.  I paid attention to its motion of stillness.  I would move my face to the left to see if the point of focus enthused to the right, only to find that it stayed the same.   As I peeked through the blinds, I woke the night and caught a glimpse of its footprints stepping in the finest stardust throughout the sands of time.  Every day is the cause for the next.  Each thought with a focal point since the day we were born as the stream of mind that strives for consciousness and actualization of our own perspective.  Sometimes rain happens at the wrong time, but the rain I never mind, along with the sun and the moon and stars, as endearments ancient and new; it is the laureate of my life.  Where life is process there is no one event, there is only the rain and colored pages of great adventures to remind us, in which we are fortunate enough to have lived it.      
     
     
     
Image: Time Magazine