The super moon light makes reflective pearls of the three small birdbaths,
the trees and the lacy lemon balm cast shadows in the garden tonight.
It is all so heartbreakingly lovely.
Our garden home is so beautiful and fragrant.
Nocturnal creatures are moving through this night.
We have been given everything we need
on this vast, breathing, weeping, laughing planet.
But we have sinned against the beauty.
We have sinned against our life and home and fellow creatures.
And we are ashamed.
We will be driven from this garden.
We know this from our nightmares
and from our ancient stories.
Our fear is twisted and reflected
in our most primitive mass culture art forms,
twisted so we can get a grip on it
and beat it back with manufactured chills
and nervous laughter.
But the zombie apocalypse would be easy
compared to the self-created apocalypse
that is actually closing in on us.
We will be punished by our sins.
The ice is melting.
The storms and fires are already raging.
It seems inevitable now.
And we know it in this moonlit dark.
The secret knowledge that we hide from ourselves
shambles toward us in our stories.
We are apparently helpless
in the face of our foolishness
and daylight denial.
The grief for all that we’ve plundered
is too vast to be held
in my small broken heart.
The innocent nocturnal creatures are moving slowly through this night.
The moonlight is so lovely, reflected in the birdbaths
and the shadows are both strong and lacy.
Veda for The Poplar Grove Muse