Gaudy Day Denied

There was frost on the window this morning and snow on the wind. The world patiently waited while the sun was still sleeping and the cat was abed. Starlight and predawn dark suspended time and captured eternity in a moment. It was a morning for poetry, Byron's She Walks in Beauty expresses the image of this predawn wonder perfectly:

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

Day light; though lovely, life giving, and necessary, does not have quite the promise and wonder of a starlit sky. Brilliant sunshine is perfect for hardy prose and solid facts, but it can destroy all save the most robust poetry. Poetry requires a softer light, muted sun or luminous moonlight. Although night is the ideal time to wax poetic, this morning with its delicate frost and glittering starlight was made for poetry.

So, let us rewind the clock.

Go back; before the day began, skip the sunrise, cuddle the cat. Capture the moon, the stars, the entire night sky in a bottle - keep its cool light close. Hold fast to the frost and then dive deep into the downy quilts - be sure to bring a bard, a romantic, a poet with you. Pull the quilts tight and feel their fire in your belly, let your fingers stiffen in the cool air, a tea will warm them nicely. This is the day to capture and hold to; as peace and wonder are found in leaves of poetry read by the light of the moon.