I've heard some strange reports.
Iguanas fell from trees.
South Florida became
too cold for reptile blood.
Iguanas fell from heights
like bombs dropped from the sky.
They've been slow to explode.
It's really just the stench
of never waking up
in land that isn't yours.
Who defines invaders?
The ones who invaded first.
-Radiance Writer
Photo by Nitty Ditty on Unsplash
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Reddening light from the window drew me
just as I was about to start dinner.
On the warm round of the driveway,
I sit for the evening show.
Black trees across the street—
backlit, a golden sky glow.
It happens every day
final glory before the lights go out for the night.
Today, I’m different.
I showed up.
Mosquitos nip at my ankles.
Potatoes need shredding.
The oven needs heating.
I continue on my way to the mailbox
(the practical reason for going outside).
Hands full of ads, my attention goes east.
Is that the surf ripping along the shore?
I’m sure of it, but I can’t see.
Something else surprises—
a giant pearl resting in an opalescent shell
light-tinged clouds—
moonrise.
On the sidewalk next to the mailbox,
I am poised
observer of three worlds
rolling in harmonious circles
endlessly about each other
through black space.
On the shoulders of a giant,
privy to heavenly beings,
I barely comprehend—
I am kin!
Frailty falls away.
As I am witness,
I become the fourth world.
-November 16, 2024
Photo by Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash
Radiance Within 