I picked sweet white grapes,
crunched a ripe yellow apple,
and stared heavenward
to watch the moon cross over the sun,
her pale face invisible in his white heat.
Yet still she put out his fire,
or most of it, for a few minutes of this day,
darkening earth and quieting the birds,
just as she has countless times over countless years
as people made sacrifice, built temples,
raised voices in song and fear,
watched the birds and the waters
for signs of great portent.
Sol’s chariot soon appeared once again,
as it always has,
as far back as we know,
and rode triumphant in the blue
while the moon, shy docile creature,
returned to daytime anonymity.
I was soaked with sweat,
watching the show in an open field,
eating my golden grapes and white apple flesh,
and over me washed the peace of knowing
that this too shall pass,
that life will go on and the moon and stars
and sun will continue on their paths,
just as they always have,
and I shall continue on mine
for such time as is allotted me,
and this is right, and good.