The moon on the frozen elm
was a lick of eternity that said, “You
will go soon enough. Linger with
me.” And so I did. I stood there
till the cold crept into my boots
and the moon spilled up my face.
The thin blue shadows on the
snow were so bright it seemed
a day had stayed on to tame the
darkness from getting darker.
Then a sacred space opened
that I can’t quite explain.
– Mark Nepo, “Moonglow”