So distant from highways and urban sprawl.
It is almost butter yellow up there,
Pushed deep into a purple velvet night.
Below, it pulls at the thick mists
That wrap round the skirt of the hills
Causing them to dance an' swirl
Like a gypsy woman dancin' for her lover.
Dancin' an swirlin' so intense
That plain mountain folks remember
Stories of them gypsy woman
Stealin' babies an castin spells.
The mist causes old wives tales
To swirl an' dance in their imaginations.
The moon reflects oddly
On the polished marble surfaces
Of monuments, memorials an' slick headstones
High on a ridge up yonder,
Overlookin' a small gatherin' of cabins.
Not enough homes coveyed up together to be a town
Or even a village, just a blink in the road.
Moon reflects briefly on a pop bottle,
RC cola bottle cast aside with no thought
Pregnant moon reflects an' tugs
At an ancient creek
Wanderin' unbridled, unkempt
Through the silent holler.
Its gurgle and splash seems too loud
As folks nearby sleep on.
The moon reflects almost perfect like
On the surface of the creek,
Stuttered by an occasional ripple,
Interrupted here an' again
By the flick of a minnow's tail.
Reflected only briefly on their sides,
In the flash of dozens of minnows
Flickin' to the surface,
Flippin' like crazy
Crazy from the moon.
copyright Stephen Hollen 8/18/2008