One Christmas Eve,
my son fell asleep,
as it was past his usual time for sleep to begin,
while we were driving to a church.
And though he hadn’t been carried in awhile,
he had grown so big,
we carried him, sleeping soundly,
into the candlelit church.
He aroused as we entered the soft glow
and that was the same moment
someone rang beautiful bells.
In his dreamy half-awakeness,
he said aloud,
“The candles are ringing.”
I remembered this
last night
as I walked out into the darkness
to see the moon appear.
Full, fat, orange,
breath-taking,
there, just above the horizon.
And as I took that quick,
inward gasp,
I breathed in too
the beauty,
the sweet fragrance of Honeysuckle.
“The orange moon
smells of Honeysuckle.”

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