When a photo cannot do justice only a poem will do
You may not see these midsummer nights
the long twilight stretching pink fingers
out from the palm of midnight
across the western horizon.
But I can.
a plumping moon eight months gone
Her soft satisfied light bluing the night,
the trees, their leaves.
Venus sparkles stage right.
The Fat Lady and her twinkling diminutive friend
pierce the gathering dark
with their different brightness.
Elated, I run down the lane in my pyjamas,
greeting both like long lost women friends
ones unmet since we shared our youth,
our brightness lighting up the dark.