[pct-l] Sundown, Yellow Moon

[wayneskraft at comcast.net (Wayne Kraft)]

As I emerged this evening from the undistinguished office building in  
which I daily labor, I was stopped dead in my tracks.  There, off to  
the east, towering over the ill-considered suburban landscape, was  
Mt.  Hood.  I do not know what the setting sun (that rogue, that  
scalliwag setting sun) had said or done to make her blush, but she  
was pulsing peppermint pink, radiantly aglow, basking in his  
attentions after so many weeks of gloomy neglect.  Hanging directly  
above her summit at nine o'clock high, a nearly full moon waxed  
gibbous against the ice blue sky.  A cool east wind blew directly off  
her glaciated slopes and seemed to call out to me, "Lean into me.   
Follow me home."  Why can't I just stop here, I asked myself.  Why  
can't I just stay here and watch this beautiful night unfold?  Ah,  
but I was expected elsewhere by people who depend on me.  I could not  
tarry .  So, while the sun sank and the mountain glowed and the moon  
ascended and the wind swooned and the best and brightest of the stars  
and planets set their kindling alight, I commuted.  As I rolled along  
the highway cut from the river's bank, I considered her.  She could,  
with one powerful spasm of her vast volcanic heart, change  
everything:  turn night to day, rearrange the landscape, burn the  
city to the ground, dam the rivers and flood the earth.  She could  
clean us out, she could.  Had it been her choice to do so, just right  
then, I think I would have cheered.

Wayne