Article voiceover
She has not light to call her own No cascade of fusion spilling brilliance Instead, stealing molten gold from the sun Cooling it's blazing fire in her tranquil seas Then returning it to us, silver-bright and cold I capture her stolen light Imprisoned in binary code and pixels But they cannot hold her truly My eye, naked, beholds her magic Etching it deep within my soul A secret gift for me alone In words and pictures she cannot be contained Only in the silver halide of my heart Can her latent beauty hold
Author’s Note
I have been sporadically and ineptly attempting to photograph the moon.
Hanging out of the window this morning, trying once again to capture it in my camera roll, I was struck by how extraordinarily brightly the moon glows, despite the light being nothing more than a reflection from the sun. And at the same time, frustrated by my continued inability to take a photograph that does justice to the beauty I see.
This poem was born from that noticing.
With wishes for endless inspiration,
There are moments and memories, stories and songs between the blades of grass and on the underside of the leaves, inside the flowers and dancing in the wind.
You rock!
I love this Emily! You say the moon can’t be captured but somehow in your words you capture the impossibility, which in a strange inside-out way, is exactly how her silvery gossamer self should be held. 🌑