The evening comes slowly over us,
over the cardinal and the wren still
feeding, over the swallows suddenly
swooping to snatch up mosquitoes
over the marsh where the green
sedge lately has a tawny tinge
over two yearlings bending long
necks to nibble hillock bushes
finally separate from their doe
mother. A late hawk is circling
against the sky streaked lavender.
The breeze has quieted, vanished
into leaves that still stir a bit
like a cat turning round before
sleep. Distantly a car passes
and is gone. Night gradually
unrolls from the east where
the ocean slides up and down
the sand leaving seaweed tassels:
a perfect world for moments.
~Marge Piercy “June 15th, 8pm”
So many daily moments pass by me, like raindrops flowing away in a stream — I can’t capture and hold them. They run through my fingers like water, leaving behind only a residue of memory.
Yet each is a moment of perfection, even as I lose my grasp on it. I can write a word or record a picture, yet most precious is the gift of time itself.
A moment given, a moment breathed, a moment vanished, lived fully and never to come again.