Following the Longest Night of the Year

When I woke up a little after 1:00 a.m., I pulled on a sweater and went outside to see if the moon had turned red in her first day of winter eclipse. Guess I didn’t get there soon enough. (And now that I see this photo sent to me by my most fabulous computer guy, Michael Brenner, I really wish I'd woken up in time.)

But there she was, for the storm clouds had moved out of the way, full and glorious, except for what looked like the shadow of a hand covering the side of her face. I stood there in the cold and looked up.

Three poems for the season:

Darkness

Darkness is a boy, big and tall,
clutching the Earth
and putting it his deep, dark, gloomy pocket,
like a toy or a small ball.

Darkness is the moon
with a crayon, black,
coloring the night sky,
and the stars erase some spots
and step in.

David Ziganay
grade 4

Starlight

We are that
when born.

Margaret Hammond Larson

I have loved the stars too fondly
to be fearful of the night.

W. H. Auden